


So Far Down

by Mendeia



Series: The Death-Knell of Silence [3]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Depression, Don-centric, Family Loss, Gen, It Gets Worse, Post-Canon, Usagi Yojimbo universe as portrayed in TMNT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:18:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendeia/pseuds/Mendeia
Summary: The Death-Knell of Silence Part 3: Now alone in NYC, Donatello struggles to adapt to life without the support of his family. While the isolation eats at his soul, the Purple Dragons are still out for his blood - and another tragedy waits on the horizon. As things spiral from bad to worse, Don tries to hold onto the support he has left - only to watch it crumble.





	1. Nowhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm sorry I'm a day late with this – the past weekend was more taxing than I realized and I'm still tired 10 days later. Oh well. Onto Act 3!
> 
> There's a lot I want to say about this Act, but on reflection, it's all better served in subsequent chapters. So for now, let me express how amazing the feedback on this series has been thus far. I've had more comments since the end of Act 2 than I get on most everything I write. And you are all so interested, so supportive, and so kind. I am overwhelmed and supremely grateful for all of you.
> 
> Unfortunately, I'm about to betray you by breaking your hearts some more. But you saw that coming.
> 
> Enjoy!

_The Way of Silence._

_The Way of Invisibility._

_The Code of Bushido:  
Righteousness, Courage, Benevolence, Respect, Sincerity, Honor, Loyalty, Self-Control_

_Hamato Clan_

Donatello's hands almost shook as he finished the last stroke of the paint on the final banner. The kanji for the Hamato Clan had been the very first Donatello had learned at his father's knee, and though his skill with proper calligraphy would never rival Leonardo's, he had always worked to perfect the symbols that meant their family.

He stared hard at the last stroke. _Maybe it wobbles a very little at the end. But nobody will notice._

_Nobody who could tell the difference will even see them, probably._

That thought was old and landed on a callus where Don's feelings had once been raw. Almost ignoring the near-constant companion that was the bite of despair, he turned to his Moving Book and checked off the entry for "Dojo Banners."

_Well, they have to be hung still, but they have to dry first. And I think I wrote down "Hanging Dojo Banners" a couple of pages later anyway._

The small notebook was familiar against his skin as he tucked it into his belt, pressed to his plastron. He could barely remember not carrying it, not checking it every minute of the day.

He could barely remember a life before.

_The Way of Silence. That's pretty much it. Though maybe I should have made a banner for The Way of Structure or The Way of Scheduling. The Way of Micro-Managing Every Minute to Stave Off Insanity._

As if hearing his thoughts, his Shell Cell beeped.

 _Time to go._ Donatello left the banners to dry and moved across the lair to his workstation. The heavy duffle bag sat waiting right where it was supposed to be on the end of the table. Don packed it up almost without thought. Instead, he considered the bag's origin.

-==OOO==-

"Hey Donnie!" April's voice was a little too high and cheerful as she stepped through the door. "How are you?"

Don looked up from where he had been working. The middle of the floor was littered with the parts he had scavenged which were streaked with grease. He wiped his hands on a towel and rose to meet her.

"Hi April. I'm okay. What brings you here today?"

She held out a brand-new, sturdy duffle bag. It was black with grey zippers and trimmings on the seams.

April's smile was a little too bright.

"I know you've been wanting one, and I saw this one in a store window while I was out running errands this morning. I thought it might come in handy, and it gave me an excuse to come see you!"

Donatello tried to return her smile, but he could feel its stiffness. "Thanks, April. You really didn't need to do this."

"Of course I did!" Then, her face falling, "I want to do whatever I can to...you know. Help out."

Don took the bag from April's hands and ducked his head. "I appreciate it."

He didn't want to see the loss and sympathy in her eyes so he kept his head down when she sighed.

"I wish there was something I could do," she said quietly. "I wish…"

"I know," Don said, hoping his voice didn't catch on tears the way hers did. "But there isn't. I wish, too."

April was quiet for a moment. Finally, she took a deep breath and Don could hear her pulling herself together. "So, Donnie. Casey's been watching all those cooking shows with me lately, probably because he feels guilty for making me watch wrestling with him."

That was a strange-enough non sequitur that Don had to look up at her.

April's troubled eyes lit with slight triumph. "Now he wants to start trying some of those recipes. But they really are too much food for the two of us, even with how he eats. I was thinking about making it a weekly project. Cook a big meal on Sunday afternoon and then there would be leftovers all week. But I'm afraid we'll end up with a full fridge and leftovers that go bad."

Don felt the trap curling around him, but he let her spring it anyway.

"Maybe you could help me out?"

"Help how, April?" he answered as he was supposed to.

Besides, it was worth it for the relief in her face. "Come over on Sunday and help us eat this stuff. And you can take some leftovers with you, too. That way I'm not stuck with them and Casey gets his wish to try to out-cook the cooking channel."

Donatello didn't sigh, but he felt it in his chest. "Okay. What time?"

"Why don't you come over around noon and we'll eat when we're ready? And if you wanted to, you could help me outvote Casey and watch a real movie for once, too!"

"Sure, April."

She hugged him, and they both felt the tremor in her arms, the too-tight grip. Donatello leaned into it for a moment before he drew back.

He tried to smile more genuinely. "Thanks for the bag, too, April. This'll help a lot."

-==OOO==-

_It's been a month. I've had this bag a month, and I've been to April's on Sundays for four weeks._

_Which means it's been almost two months that I've been alone. Feels like a lifetime._

_Feels like I've never lived any other way._

_Or maybe I never really lived at all._

Mechanically, Donatello zipped the bag shut with a sound that echoed in the silent lair. Then he grabbed for the big boots he had modified. They laced halfway up his calves, cut to the shape of his feet, and they were still waterproof. But, more importantly, they could stand up against the frigid temperatures of November in New York, and they kept out the freezing dampness of the sewers. Next came the coat and hat to keep off the chill of the wind, to say nothing of sleet or snow. Finally, he slid his bo home into the belt he had added to the coat.

_One last check of the list and I'll be good to go._

Today's list was written down in the Moving Book, too, but he had made a copy in the mid-afternoon so he could keep the Book protected inside the coat. The copy sat on his desk in its designated spot next to the bag. Don read over it twice, checking it against his mental list of the tasks for the next few days.

_Looks about right. Not even a lot of big stuff these days. Just harder-to-find stuff._

Donatello pulled the bag over his shoulder and strode for the door to the lair, pausing only to key in the security code to lock it down in his absence. He could almost feel the subsonic hum of the system as it stirred to life, feeding power to the automated defenses and sealing all the possible entry-points. Then he re-synchronized his Shell Cell with the day's passcode and headed out into the sewer, the reinforced door closing and locking behind him with an almost soundless hiss of pressure.

Donatello set off into the underground.

_Sensors haven't shown any motion bigger than a stray cat down here in two days, but that's no guarantee. With my luck, an entire set of city mutant hunters will be holding a convention down here._

For the first several blocks out from the lair, Donatello consulted his Shell Cell periodically. It was tapped into the lair's sensor net and could tell him if there were any sources of motion or heat that could herald danger in his vicinity. Once he left the range of the lair's sensors, however, he could only rely upon his own senses.

There was an almost meditative quality to the process of gauging his surroundings, listening and looking closely and stretching out with the sixth sense that he had been cultivating through ninja training for as long as he could remember. It was what allowed him to fight in total concealment and never lose track of his opponents or his allies. It was what warned him he had missed something in a calculation before he made a fatal mistake. It was what had always told him how to find his brothers no matter what.

But now that he was almost always alone, the sense was almost entirely dedicated to watching his back. For nothing else did.

Moving in silence and staying alert to any possible threat, it took Donatello about thirty minutes to reach his destination. There was a small scrapyard along the docks on the West Side he hadn't checked in a few weeks, and he happened to know that they closed early on Wednesdays. It wasn't one of his go-to junkyards because of its location, but today an exception had to be made.

A manhole led him to the alley beside the scrapyard, providing cover of darkness as well as from the icy wind.

_In and out. No delay if I can help it. I really don't want to hang around here too long. And let's hope the neighbors don't get curious either._

Don waited for a particularly brutal gust of wind that would cause any on-lookers to flinch and sprinted from his hiding spot for the fence which he easily leaped. He ghosted into the scrapyard and headed straight for a pile of recent acquisitions.

An hour later, Donatello's hands were cold to the bone, but he had collected most of what he had been hoping to find. That done, he opened his bag and examined the items he had brought with him. It was the part of the process his brothers had never understood – replacing the things he took with other things. But Don knew that all junkyards and scrapyards only made money by selling what they had either to recyclers or as usable parts, so anything he stole would have been money he took from them; therefore, Don left behind his own broken materials or scraps of equal value for what he acquired. Most commonly, Don traded bits of copper piping he replaced in the sewers, as the copper was very valuable but easy to carry in small amounts.

Don mentally totalled his findings and pulled two thin copper pipes from his bag, carefully hiding them amidst the unsorted scrap so they would be discovered in the morning. If the things he was acquiring didn't quite fit in his bag, he had two more pipes he could leave behind, paying forward for the next trip. Don maintained a mental list – which he had also copied into a spreadsheet on his computer – of the tallies from every junkyard and scrapyard within twenty miles of Manhattan, and overall, he was very fair with his exchanges.

Of course, it helped that cleaning out a new lair tended to unearth a lot of scrap metal, conveniently right when he needed the most in the way of materials and parts. When he'd cleaned out the lair before the pump station, he'd found such an overabundance of old pipes and things, he'd actually had to sell it directly, hooking up with his favorite scrapper online and having Casey pose as him when they came to collect it. That haul had fed a huge chunk of money into the online bank account Don had created, which had been very important for buying those items he just could not find or make from garbage.

_If I start running low on funds again, I should go strip the pump station. There's at least a few thousand dollars' worth of stuff down there, and scrappers won't care if it's busted. I'd just have to pick a time Casey and April could come with me in case the Foot decide to visit._

Having completed the trade for his finds, Donatello loaded up his bag, zipping it shut with even a little room to spare.

_So much easier when I don't need to make trips or figure out how to get a wheelbarrow in and out of the sewer. Even if I do have the only folding, hovering wheelbarrow on the planet._

Don had just reached the fence and was readying to leap over it when his sixth sense blared a warning.

_Shell. I knew they were watching my favorite spots. I didn't think they'd come all the way out here._

Don paused.

_I can't stay here all night. I'll have to try to outrun them._

He secured his bag by tightening its strap and drew his bo. In one smooth motion, he vaulted the fence and landed in a run.

There was a shout and a crowd of Purple Dragons spilled into the street.

_Advantages, me: I have a head start, I'm faster on the ground, and I only need to get to the manhole – they'll never find me down in the sewers._

_Advantages, them: they have numbers, maybe guns, and they don't have to hide._

A roar sounded from down the block.

_Oh. And they have wheels._

Don skidded to a halt just before he reached the alley with the open manhole – the alley which was now lined with Purple Dragons lying in wait. He spun on his heel and was getting ready to sprint down the street, but the headlights of motorcycles were already advancing.

His mind raced at better-than-lightning speeds.

_The streets are cut off and the only way up to the roof is through this crowd. I'm not going to win a footrace against their bikes. And there's no way I can fight this many. I have to strike hard and create an exit before the whole gang converges on me, then double back underground when I lose them._

_Better make this fast._

Donatello exploded into forward motion, diving with his bo extended in a sweeping strike. The first row of Purple Dragons blocking the alley went down fast and hard.

His world narrowed to his primary objective – the escape-ladder that led to the roof which was closer than the open manhole. Anything that threatened to keep him from the ladder met his bo with force. There was no time to think, no time to plan. He could only react.

When he was close enough, Donatello jumped, springboarding off the head of the nearest Purple Dragon, and grabbed onto the ladder. He fixed his bo into place and started to climb.

Suddenly a sharp, jarring pain _exploded_ across his head.

Don felt himself falling. He could do nothing but flop back to the ground, though the impact seemed far away. His head was spinning, lights were flashing, his ears roared with nameless sound.

Then he fell again.

_I didn't know I could fall twice._

_Oh. They kicked me. Right._

_Gotta...get out of here._

The instinct was deeper than conscious thought. Donatello stretched out a hand and met a boot that vanished. Pain bloomed across his side.

_Is that me rolling? Or is it just my head? Can my head roll without me?_

Suddenly one hand fell farther, as though there were a hole in the ground.

_Hole. Manhole. Sewer. Sewer!_

Don couldn't leap into the sewer, but he could certainly shift his weight towards the hole and fall.

_Water. Water is good. Get me...out of here._

_Can't go home. They'll follow._

_Get out of here._

For one moment of clarity, Don was able to remember that he was in a tunnel which drained into a more swiftly-flowing part of the sewer. He could hear the Purple Dragons starting to climb down towards him. With all his strength, he pushed to his hands and knees and crawled along the water until he reached where the runoff hit a deeper channel.

_Hope I...don't drown._

He tipped into the rush of water and let it carry him away.

-==OOO==-

Leatherhead's secondary perimeter alarm sounded.

"Something is in the water," he said, looking at the monitors alight with red warnings. Then he squinted. "But its shape…"

An instant later, he bolted from his home and out into the nearby sewer tunnel. His eyes were well-adapted to low light, so he had little trouble spotting the large anomaly in the water that was flowing by.

A turtle-shaped anomaly.

"Hold on, my friend!"

Leatherhead dove into the water and darted along, his tail providing him with the incredible speed of his crocodile heritage. In moments, he closed his arms around the unconscious ninja. He shifted his hold to ensure he could keep the turtle's head clear of the water.

"Donatello! Can you hear me?"

Leatherhead was gratified that Donatello's eyes opened momentarily, but he was just as quickly alarmed by the clearly uneven pupils within.

"I have you, my friend," Leatherhead said, holding the turtle carefully. "Rest. I will care for you."

Donatello's eyes fell closed.

Leatherhead wasted no time pulling Don out of the water and carrying him back towards his home.

At the entrance, he met his temporary roommate.

"Oh dear!" Professor Honeycutt exclaimed. "Is he all right?"

"He has an obvious contusion to the head and doubtless a concussion as a result of it," Leatherhead reported, carrying his unconscious friend past the Fugitoid and into the remains of his home.

Honeycutt moved in Leatherhead's wake. "He may be hypothermic. We must warm him up at once."

Leatherhead nodded and continued on towards his own dense nest of blankets on layers of mattresses which had been serving as his bed for the better part of a year. "Help me remove his wet clothes."

The pair stripped Donatello of his soggy coat and boots, pulling away his dripping bag at the same time. Honeycutt carefully opened the duffle to allow its contents to dry and propped the bo nearby while Leatherhead gently removed Don's other pads and set them aside, leaving only his mask which he knew carried more emotional significance than it would influence his body temperature. Then he scrubbed a towel over the turtle's body to dry him.

Donatello began to shiver almost at once.

"Bring the space heater," Leatherhead said. He held Donatello gently against his own chest to lend what warmth he could, though his own semi-warm-bloodedness and intolerance to cold was little more help than Donatello's own. He wrapped him in several blankets before lowering him into the nest and piling the rest around the turtle.

Professor Honeycutt reached his side with the space heater in his metallic hands. While Leatherhead positioned it beside Donatello, its heat directed at his plastron, Honeycutt plugged it into a long extension cord and went to retrieve their first aid kit. Between the two of them, it took little time to bandage the small gash on Donatello's head and put a cold pack on the lump to bring down the swelling.

"I will watch him," Leatherhead volunteered. "He should not be alone while he recovers from his concussion."

With no immediate other way to help, Honeycutt wandered to the discarded pile of Donatello's wet things. "Then as I cannot do much more to heal his injuries, I shall try to preserve his belongings."

Leatherhead flashed him a smile. "Thank you, Professor."

Honeycutt began with the duffle bag which had resisted much water, but was still soaked inside and out. He removed each item and passed a scrap of cloth over them to remove the worst of the wetness before he arranged them on the floor to finish drying. Then he hung Donatello's coat up where it could drip dry.

He was just turning to Donatello's pads when he noticed the small notebook that had been tucked in his belt.

"Oh dear. I hope it hasn't been ruined."

But the notebook's cover was plastic and its edges were curved inwards so severely that it had been spared most of the water's impact. Honeycutt opened it gently, intending to fan out any pages that were damp.

He found himself reading instead.

The Professor read the notebook twice before coming to a decision. He finished hanging the rest of Donatello's belongings to dry before he made his way back to Leatherhead's side.

"I believe our friend is in more trouble than we knew," he said softly.

Leatherhead looked up from where he had otherwise been watching Don's face carefully. "How so?"

Honeycutt held out the notebook. "Though it is a breach of privacy, I would like you to draw your own conclusion before he wakes. If you think I am misunderstanding, I invite you to correct me."

Leatherhead rumbled low in his chest but accepted the notebook. "Is there really such cause for concern that I must do this without his permission?"

The Fugitoid's robotic head nodded slowly. "I would not ask you if I did not believe it was important."

"Very well."

-==OOO==-

Donatello woke in stages. He became aware at some point that he had been vaguely awake several times, though with an edge of delirium to his memories. At last, he realized he was again awake, but this time enough to recognize it.

It still took him several minutes to coordinate his brain enough to open his eyes, however.

Donatello looked up at an unfamiliar ceiling, but a very familiar friend.

"L...Leatherhead?"

"Slowly, my friend," rumbled the giant crocodile. "Give your mind time to settle."

"Wha...what happened?" Don asked, making no attempt to move his head. Already he could feel pain swirling at the edges of movement.

"It seems you were out scrounging and suffered some sort of ambush," Leatherhead said gently. "You took a great blow to your skull, causing a severe concussion. I found you in one of the sewer runoffs."

Don closed his eyes again to focus his thinking. He remembered the scrapyard and something about Purple Dragons. "I guess I'm lucky you found me," he said after a moment.

"I should say so."

That voice was familiar, but unexpected, and Don couldn't help but open his eyes and try to lift his head to look. The instant he did that, his vision swam and his heart thudded in his temples. He fell back with a low moan.

"I think...my brain...is still scrambled," he managed.

"I should think you are correct."

Donatello blinked his eyes and forced them to focus. "Professor...Honeycutt?"

The robotic body tipped its head. "Do you know any others in a modified Fugitoid body?"

"No, but…"

"Stop confusing him." Leatherhead threw a mild glare to his friend. "Donatello, let me explain."

Don wanted to nod but remembered just in time that it was a bad idea. "Okay."

"You recall that Professor Honeycutt utilized one of the Utrom teleportal devices to reach Earth in time for the wedding of April O'Neil and Casey Jones, correct?"

"Yeah. I remember we had to kind of scramble...since we would have invited you except we couldn't contact you...and then you called me out of the blue a few days before and...you had to compensate for the time distortion."

Leatherhead and Honeycutt exchanged glances. The Professor himself said, "Well, I decided to remain here for a time. I did not intend for my visit to be as long as it has been, but circumstances could not be helped."

"But...you didn't tell me you were here."

Leatherhead sighed. "It...is complicated."

Don sighed, too. "My brain's...too squishy for complicated."

"Indeed," Honeycutt said. "It shall be, I believe, several days before you are recovered enough for the entire tale."

"Is there anything urgent that requires your attention at your lair, Donatello?" Leatherhead asked. "You are welcome to remain with us while you heal."

"No...nothing…" Don said, his eyes drifting closed. "The guys...won't even…"

"Sleep, Donatello," Honeycutt said, leaning down and pulling a blanket up more closely. "All will be well."

"No," Don muttered. "Not...anymore…"

When he was well and truly asleep again, the two friends bustled around to make him more comfortable.

"I will call April," Leatherhead said finally, having settled Donatello into the nest of blankets and with the heater pouring out steady, restorative warmth.

Honeycutt looked across to him. "Will you tell her what we...discovered?"

Leatherhead shook his head. "No. If she is not already aware, it would only break his heart for this to be known by those he trusts. I will not further injure his pride if I can help it."

"Very well. I'll sit with him, then."

Leatherhead crossed his home to where his own Shell Cell sat. He rarely used it, but he was grateful all the same for the constant tie to his own surrogate family.

April answered on the third ring. "Hello? Leatherhead?"

"Good evening, April. I hope I have not called too late?"

"No, not at all. What's up?"

Leatherhead paused for a moment. "I...was wondering about Donatello."

He could hear April's intake of breath. "Has he...spoken to you lately?"

"No more or less than usual, and yet there is something strange," Leatherhead admitted honestly. "We primarily communicate via email, particularly when he is engaged in something that requires his absolute focus. I knew he was busy with reestablishing a lair while his family traveled between dimensions with Usagi. But I now realize I have heard very little about him or his family for several weeks. I am...concerned."

"Leatherhead, I'm sorry, but I'm not sure how much he'd want me to tell you."

Leatherhead nodded even though she couldn't see the gesture. "I respect your concern for his privacy. Perhaps, however, it might be easier on him were you to tell me what I would discover for myself if I went over to visit. Then he would not have to explain whatever is the matter."

April sighed. "Okay. Well, the long and short of it is that the guys and Splinter are still in Usagi's world, and it's looking like they're going to stay there for good."

Leatherhead's eye-ridges went up in surprise. "Truly?"

"Yeah. Leo's been named the next in line for a Lord or somebody, and apparently Mikey's got a crush on a local girl and, well, you know Raph. Being able to live out in the open...so…"

"What of Master Splinter?"

"He's still sick with whatever got Donnie while they were over there. I don't think he's really been in any state to make a decision."

This was worse than Leatherhead had feared. "Then Donatello has been living alone for all this time?"

"Yeah." There was an audible catch in April's voice. "We...we've tried to be supportive. But it's...it's so hard to know how to help him. Especially when…"

"When you are in pain as well," Leatherhead said, understanding. "Of course. Your grief for this is as difficult to bear as his."

"No, it isn't," April said. "I mean, I feel like my family is falling apart again...and that's bad enough, but…" She breathed in sharply and Leatherhead could hear her fighting a sob.

Then there was the sound of rustling and a distant, "It's okay, babe. Let me." Then, "Hey, LH? It's Casey."

"Is she all right?" Leatherhead asked. "I am sorry if I have upset her."

"It's not your fault, man. And like Donnie keeps tellin' me, it's not really anybody's fault. Though I kinda wanna go over there and smack some sense into Raph for leavin' 'im an' us like that. But Leo told Don it was like them growin' up and gettin' out on their own and that someday it had to happen and I kinda see his point." He huffed. "I just never expected to be an empty-nester so young, you know? Thought I'd actually have kids first."

"Hmm." Leatherhead considered for a moment. "And, in the matter of Donatello, do you believe he is adjusting to the situation in a healthy manner?"

"Uh...it's hard to say, ya know? He comes over for dinner every week and he seems like good old Donnie, but how bummed out would you be if your bros all left you hangin' like that? I think we're all adjustin' as best we can. Me, I've been poundin' a punching bag in the basement. April...uh, she's been doin' a lot of crying but she don't want Don to see 'cause she thinks it makes him feel worse but I keep tellin' her that he wouldn't want her to lie and she ain't takin' my advice yet. I think he's been mainly fixin' stuff. You know, doin' what Donnie does."

"I see." Leatherhead glanced over at the turtle sleeping under the Fugitoid's watch. "I think perhaps I will try to speak to Donatello. Grief is a difficult emotion to manage alone, and while you and April may be able to support one another, he may need some additional help as well."

"Dude's still fixin' a lair ain't nobody gonna live in. He _definitely_ needs some kinda help."

"I will do what I can. Please continue to treat Donatello as you have thus far. If he needs something else from you, it will become apparent; for now, I think having you both as a reliable fixed point may be what helps him maintain his own equilibrium."

"You got it, LH. I'm all for equally-brum."

There was a shift and April returned to the line. "Leatherhead?"

"Yes, April?"

"Please take care of him."

Leatherhead's resolve settled in his chest. "I will. To the best of my ability. As much as he allows me, anyway."

"He...he hasn't let me do anything. I hope you have better luck. He...he shouldn't be alone."

Leatherhead's voice went soft. "He will not be. Thank you for your honesty, April."

"Thanks for being a friend," she replied before she hung up.

Leatherhead lowered the phone and crossed back to crouch beside the Professor.

Honeycutt looked up. "Well?"

Leatherhead wanted to sigh but he feared to disturb the young turtle so he buried the sound in his snout with the talent of his species.

"It is worse than we thought, my friend."

-==OOO==-

For the next few days, Donatello was asleep more than he was awake.

"Complete rest is the best natural remedy for a concussion," Leatherhead told him when he woke groggily and slightly annoyed.

"But I've got work to do," Don groused. "And I'm taking your bed away from you."

Leatherhead gave a soft snort. "Like yourself, I sleep as often in my lab as my proper bed. I am entirely comfortable in my alternate nest and would far rather offer this much to you in your time of need."

"And your work will wait for you," the Professor said. "I daresay you have been rather short on sleep of late going by the shadows under your eyes that remain even now. Please, my boy, let your body guide you and continue to rest."

"Hard to resist when all I _can_ do is sleep."

"You are awake now, are you not?" Professor Honeycutt's voice was slightly robotic thanks to the body of the Fugitoid, but the inflection was clearly amused.

Don sighed. "Yeah. Okay, well, if I can't actually work, can you tell me if my notebook survived my inadvertent bath? I'd like to add some notes to it."

Leatherhead hesitated only a moment before he retrieved the little book from where it had sat with the rest of Donatello's belongings; he brought it and a pen over. "Is this it?"

"Yeah." Don took it and settled back in his bed. "It's okay. I'm so glad." He smiled at his friends. "Thanks for drying it out for me."

"May I ask what it is?" Leatherhead kept the question polite.

Don shrugged. "It's my Moving Book. I had a To Do list that got wiped out in the sewage flood, so I transferred the list here."

"It seems rather extensive for a task you have largely completed," the Professor observed casually.

"Oh. Well, here, I'll show you." Don opened the book and held it out.

On every left-hand page was a list of tasks which seemed to continue from page to page, sometimes scratched out and rewritten but always an endless, unceasing list. On the right-hand page facing it was a date and a hand-drawn grid. Every hour of the day was carefully delineated, and various tasks from the left-hand pages' lists were populated in each spot. There were also notations to eat and sleep. Along the margin, there were check-marks next to everything that had been completed.

"There's always so much to do when setting up a lair," Don chattered on, "so I need a really long list. Otherwise I'd forget something. So I used this to keep track of what needed doing and what I'd already done and everything."

Leatherhead glanced through a few pages. "Donatello, by your own account you have been working almost non-stop. And I note you have skipped far more meals than you should."

Don shrugged again. "There's not much else for me to do _but_ work. And maybe I did eat and forgot to check it off. That happens."

Leatherhead's huffed through his nose but said nothing. He knew well that it was possible his friend had simply failed to mark off the act of eating, but he thought it unlikely; all the rest of the book was a pristine, almost compulsively accurate record of each day. It would not be like Donatello to relentlessly track every hour's activity and progress, yet leave so many blanks only when it came to nourishing himself. And that was all before any assessment of Donatello's limbs which seemed thin and frail in a way that was alien on the young, previously-fit mutant.

It was Professor Honeycutt who ventured the question they both feared. "Do you not see your brothers every day, then? Come to think of it, you haven't been home at all since Wednesday. Will they be worried?"

Donatello's eyes slid down and he focused his gaze on the blankets that covered him rather than the pairs of concerned eyes staring at him.

"Uh...well, we did for a while."

"According to your last emails, you were having at least daily contact," Leatherhead said. "And Raphael was staying with you as well. Is that no longer the case?"

"Raph went back a while ago...around the same time everybody decided to stay."

"But surely you still speak to them often," Leatherhead ventured.

"I used to call every day. But there really wasn't much to say and it got kinda weird."

"What about Master Splinter?" Professor Honeycutt asked. "I cannot imagine he would go so long without contact."

"He had a relapse. Leo told me that someone even being in the room with him was making him run a fever. I guess the strain of healing made him even more susceptible to any sort of emotional strain. Leo asked me to wait until he gave the okay before I came to visit."

"So you have not seen your family in days?" Leatherhead tried to keep his voice neutral and only partly succeeded.

Don flinched. "Well...they're really busy over in Usagi's world. I used to go over sometimes in the morning for practice with Leo and Raph. But then Raph started riding out into the han more and more and Leo needed to handle some things for the Daimyo and…"

"Do you speak with them at all?"

"Yeah, just...every few days. Maybe once a week. When I can catch Leo between his duties."

"And you no longer train in your martial arts?"

Donatello swallowed. "No, I still do. It wouldn't be safe not to since I'm on my own running to the surface for supplies now."

"And when do you train with such a demanding schedule?" the Professor asked, gesturing to the book.

"Whenever I have a minute. You know. When I'm not doing anything else."

Leatherhead looked up and met Honeycutt's optics. They had both feared that Donatello was isolated and perhaps vulnerable; they had not imagined he could sound so downhearted.

Leatherhead handed the book back. "Please forgive us for our concern, my friend. We will let you rest."

Don nodded and accepted the book. Without looking up, he opened it and began to scribble in the back pages. Leatherhead did not try to read it, thinking that would be rude, but he noted it looked like some sort of mathematical formula.

Honeycutt gestured to the side and strode away, leaving Donatello to his work. Leatherhead joined him so they could have some privacy.

"I would estimate, given everything I know about Donatello's personality and from the state in which we first found him, that he is continuing his ninja training in the period he has marked time for sleeping," the Professor said quietly.

"I concur. And this is dangerous, unhealthy, even. But what can we do?"

"I do not know." The Fugitoid body crossed its arms. "First we must ensure that Donatello's concussion heals correctly. And then…"

"Perhaps I should attempt to contact his brothers," Leatherhead said. "Donatello sent me the schematics for his portal stick when he was backing up his computer system before wiping out the equipment at the pump station. I am certain between the two of us we could determine how to connect with the other dimension."

"Is that wise?" Honeycutt asked. "I am not averse to meddling in Donatello's affairs on his behalf, as I feel someone must ensure his wellbeing, but I fear driving an even greater wedge between him and his family if we make a misstep."

"Hey, guys?" Don called.

Leatherhead and the Professor turned at once and rejoined the turtle.

"I just thought of something," Don said, making a visible effort to sound at ease and unbothered. "It's possible that Leo _did_ try to call me and I missed him while I've been here. I'm sure he's not worried or he would have come looking, but he might have left a message or something."

Honeycutt nodded. "Such would be the least I would expect from your brother."

"Right. So, maybe, uh...would one of you mind checking on the lair for me? Make sure it's still in one piece? And if there is something from Leo, you could bring it here?"

Leatherhead leaned down and put a hand on Donatello's shoulder. "Of course. I will go this instant."

"Let me just walk you through my new security."

It actually took more than an hour before Leatherhead returned, and only half of that time was spent in transit. The rest was devoted to Donatello explaining how to find the new lair, how to pass the security checks, and how to open the hidden entrance. Once Leatherhead arrived, he took a few minutes to explore the empty space to get a better idea for the life Donatello was living. It was in this exploration that he had found a scroll lying in the center of the floor. With this in hand, he returned to his own home as quickly as possible.

"You were correct," he said upon striding back into his rooms. "I found this."

Donatello's face lit up with a bright smile. "Great! Let's see what Leo says."

Leatherhead had not opened the scroll himself, and he did not wish to make his friend uncomfortable, so he handed it over and then looked away so as not to spy over Donatello's shoulder.

But he couldn't help but hear the sudden intake of breath.

"What is it?" the Professor asked, already leaning close.

"Is everything all right?" Leatherhead added.

Donatello's hands were shaking slightly but he took a deep breath and forced them still. He rolled up the scroll and tucked it beside himself. His eyes were hard points of light in his face, as though he were concealing a storm within.

"They're gone."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Sassatello from Tumblr and 1readerVB/Luck-of-the-Irishmen for the fanart for each chapter in this story!!!


	2. Trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya everyone!
> 
> I am SUPER excited to say that I've been given fanart for Worlds Apart! I'll be uploading it to the AO3 version tonight after I get this chapter up. Thank you SO, SO MUCH MsGoodDay!
> 
> I'm still working on replying to everyone who leaves a review or comment or a DM, but there's one question I've been asked which I want to answer for all of you: will this have a happy ending?
> 
> The short answer – it's complicated.
> 
> The longer answer – this isn't a spoiler because you need only read my entire body of work to know that I don't like endings that ruin your feelings forever. My endings may be difficult, but they're usually constructive if not actually positive. But that only holds true for whole series taken as a whole. I make NO promises about individual Acts, guys. In fact, at least one of them is going to be pretty darn awful. But at the end of the end? When the final chapter closes on the final act in December? Yeah. Things will turn out okay. You just have to hang on.
> 
> Keep that in mind as we go. This whole story is written and there is reason an explanation behind everything that happens. On something like this, I play the long game. I invite you to play with me.
> 
> Here's a chapter with a few explanations that will move us along. But be warned, this is where the tragedies I mentioned in the summary will start to arise, too.
> 
> (Ooh, anybody got the song for this one yet?)
> 
> Enjoy!

"What can you mean? Gone? _Where_ have they gone?" Professor Honeycutt asked.

Donatello looked across the lair, anywhere but at either of his friends. "Edo."

"What is Edo?" Leatherhead asked, trying to stand close enough to Donatello to be reassuring without also seeming to suffocate him.

"It's...the capital city. The original name for Tokyo, apparently the same city from our dimension in the corresponding time period. Anyway. Leo's note said that the Daimyo was required to travel there by order of the Shogun and Leo and Master Splinter went with him. Leo says...Raph will be patrolling the han and Mikey is at Mitsu's place."

Leatherhead's eye-ridges rose. "Did he leave you no way to contact him?"

Don shook his head. "Not really. I think...he was in a hurry."

"A trip of such magnitude, especially with an invalided Master Splinter along, could scarcely be a last-minute affair." Honeycutt's words were low.

Don closed his eyes. "I know. He didn't say as much but...I know how to read Leo. I think...he forgot to tell me about it until they were leaving. That's why he didn't even bother to come looking for me. He just opened the doorway and chucked the scroll through." Then, even more quietly, "They must have been planning it...for weeks. He only remembered me on the way out."

Suddenly Donatello pushed himself to his feet, almost rising straight into Leatherhead except the crocodile was quick and shifted aside.

"I...I need some air."

"You are not yet fully healed of your concussion," Honeycutt said, stepping in front of him. "You cannot risk physical exertion yet."

"I know, but I...I need…"

"Let him go, Professor." Leatherhead put a hand on the Fugitoid's shoulder. He looked to Don whose shoulders were shaking, but his expression was closed and defiant. "I trust Donatello to manage his own feelings in his own way."

"Thanks, LH," Don said.

Leatherhead released Honeycutt only to rest a hand on Don's shell. "However, I wish you to take both a weapon and a phone with you. And I want you to return here to rest when you are finished so I may continue to monitor your recovery."

Donatello nodded wordlessly, but he shot Leatherhead a bare almost-smile as he edged around them to collect his belongings. He paused at the door, as if to turn back and say something, but fell silent as his jaw worked against his tightly-closed expression.

"Stay safe, my friend," Leatherhead said.

Donatello twitched slightly. Then, he turned just enough so he faced them fully.

To their surprise, he gave them a half-bow.

"You have my word, Leatherhead."

And he quit the lair.

Honeycutt turned to Leatherhead. "Are you certain this is wise?"

Leatherhead sighed heavily. "No. But I do know that Donatello's heart feels things deeply and even the complexity of his mind cannot mitigate such thoughtless pain. He will tear his heart apart if we try to force him to let such feelings build without release."

"You don't think he'll get hurt?"

Leatherhead shook his head. "I don't think any hurt of the body would trouble him against what is weighing upon his soul. And if he can only find some way to live with himself by driving his body beyond its limits...well. That's why I told him to come back."

-==OOO==-

Donatello returned several hours later, sweating, breath heaving, and almost trembling with exhaustion. He said nothing even when spoken to directly, but allowed Leatherhead and Honeycutt to examine him for any injuries other than overexertion before he dropped into the makeshift bed where he fell asleep at once.

In the morning, the Donatello that woke was completely different from the silent, barely-constrained creature of the night before.

"Thanks for understanding about last night," Don said, sipping at his second cup of coffee. "I really appreciate it."

"So, if I may ask," Honeycutt said, "what will you do now?"

"Today's Sunday, right?"

At Leatherhead's nod, Donatello actually smiled.

"Okay. Then I'll go to April's like usual. After I finish there, maybe I'll see if I can find either Raph or Mikey in Usagi's world. They'll know what's really going on. And if I can get a fix on where Edo is relative to the coordinates I already have, I should be able to program the portal stick to drop me off where I can kick Leo's tail for scaring me like this."

Leatherhead looked down to his young friend. "Would you like some company when you venture into the other dimension?"

Donatello's whole body flinched as though he had been hit by a gust of cold wind. But he smiled when he shook his head. "No, thanks. I appreciate the offer. But I can handle this."

"If you change your mind, I daresay either of us would gladly make the journey with you," Honeycutt said.

Don looked at both of them with the sort of half-smiling sincerity that was more familiar. "I know. And it means a lot, believe me. But I would rather sort this out on my own."

Suddenly his Shell Cell beeped.

"That's my reminder. I should head back to the lair, reset the password, and grab a couple of things before I head over to April's. Casey always gets outvoted when we pick the movie after we eat, so I thought I'd bring one he can actually enjoy for once. I figure _Kingsman_ will appeal to him and April will appreciate the casting even if she gets tired of the rest of it."

Leatherhead chuckled. "I can see the wisdom of the choice. Well, let us not keep you from your afternoon."

Don nodded and started picking up his belongings, including his duffle bag. But he paused before actually departing.

"I think...if it's okay with you, I'll go home tonight after I check in with the other dimension. But...I'd like to come visit again tomorrow, if that's not a problem."

The Fugitoid nodded and Leatherhead smiled broadly. "You are always welcome here, Donatello. Day or night. And you may call upon us whenever you like."

Don smiled. "Thanks, guys. Okay. I better go. See you later!"

After the door closed behind him, Leatherhead let out a breath. "I hope a peaceful afternoon with his friends will help him face his journey tonight."

Honeycutt's voice went warm, as though he were smiling. "I am certain it will at least remind Donatello that he is not alone in this world, whatever his family has decided. Yes, I think today will do much to encourage him. Or, at the very least, distract him from his troubles for a time."

Little could either of them have anticipated how distracted Donatello was about to become.

-==OOO==-

"Hey April. Uh...how's it going?"

Don looked around the apartment above the shop with confusion and a little trepidation. In the four weeks he had come up on Sundays for the weekly meal, he had always found the place in its usual chaotic-tidy order, delicious scents in the air, and Casey and April bustling around with an edge of nervousness to their otherwise usually cheerful teamwork.

Today, there were two pizza boxes on the table, a stack of unwashed dishes in the sink and one entire shelf of books scattered across the floor – and Casey was nowhere to be found.

April looked up, her face pale and drawn.

"Hey Don. Honestly, it's not going so well today."

Donatello crossed the floor to her and put a hand on her arm. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

April let out a breath. "I'm fine, more or less. It's…" She covered Don's hand with her own and steered him to the couch. "It's Casey."

Donatello braced himself, not trusting his voice.

"Yesterday, he got a call." April paused and collected herself, facing Donatello as if she were discussing a flaw in a program code or a chemical formula. "Casey's mom is sick. They found a malignant tumor."

Don's heart lurched and he sank to the couch beside her. "Oh no. How's Casey taking it?"

April gestured to the books. "How do you think? He's out running it off right now, but he'll be back pretty soon."

Don shifted and put an arm over April's shoulders. "If there's anything I can do to help, you know I will. Casey'll probably be busy worrying about her, so make sure you do whatever you have to for yourself while you take care of him."

April nodded and tears gathered in her eyes. She leaned her cheek against Donatello's arm.

"I know that...but...how can I help him through this? And how can I...ask you for help? You're hurting, too." Her tears began to fall.

Don squeezed her tighter against him. "Yes, I am," he admitted. "But...I can deal with this. I've...I've had a while to get used to things. And you've been great. Now Casey needs you. So you can need me for a while, too."

April gave a shuddering sob and started to cry in earnest. Don held her, keeping his body relaxed and comforting. But he directed his eyes above her head where she couldn't see their emptiness. With every breath, Don drew another layer of protection and deflection around his feelings; long before April's crying slowed, he had buried everything but the comfort and steady friendship he wished her to see deep inside himself.

They might have stayed that way longer but for the metallic clanking that sounded from outside.

Donatello's senses went on high alert and adrenaline flooded into his system. "Stay here," he said, unwinding his arms from April and getting to his feet. In one stride he retrieved his bo from where he had leaned it beside the door.

April looked up at him, her eyes red and her face blotchy. "But…"

Don shook his head. "I'll call you if I need you, but right now you're too unfocused for a fight. Besides, if it goes wrong, I'll yell for you to call 911, okay?" He flashed her a smile. "Trust me, April. It'll be okay."

April's face flashed with stubborn pride, but then it faded and she nodded. "Watch your back, Donnie," she said.

"I will." And he set off down the stairs, sinking into the shadows of the unlit hallway.

_It isn't really fair to treat April like she isn't a competent fighter, but right now her emotions are raw and she didn't sleep much last night, I bet. It's a recipe for letting her guard down._

_And I can't let anything else happen to someone I care about. No matter what._

At the door to the alley where April put her garbage into the dumpster, Don paused and listened.

He heard a low, familiar groan.

Then another voice spoke in deep, threatening tones. "Listen, you nutcase. You're gonna tell me where to find those green freaks, or you're gonna wish you never tangled with the Purple Dragons."

Between one heartbeat and the next, Donatello calculated the likeliest positions of those he could hear outside. Then he grabbed the doorknob and braced himself.

In one movement, he unbolted the door and flung it open, catching Dragonface with the door's edge right on the side of the head.

Donatello leaped through the door, kicking it shut behind him and drawing his bo while he positioned himself between Casey, who was leaning against the wall beside the door, and everyone else.

"Hmm," Don said. "Eight Dragons against one turtle? I'm not sure that's fair."

"Yeah," Casey wheezed from the ground, clearly working on getting air back into his lungs. "For _them_. Get 'em good for me, Donnie."

"My pleasure." And Donatello attacked.

Because of the narrowness of the alleyway, Donatello was able to use his bo to divide the Dragons, keeping them to either side of himself and thus preventing them from charging him in one mass. Three of the gang got too close and were easily knocked out by Don's spinning bo. Two more tried to attack him simultaneously from opposite directions, and he snapped out a split-kick to bring them down while slamming the bo overhand onto a third. That left only Dragonface himself and one other slightly smarter-than-average goon.

The goon looked at his unconscious buddies and promptly bailed, running away at top speed.

"So." Don took a step towards Dragonface. "You wanted to see me?"

Dragonface backed up warily. "You and your freaky family are gonna be sorry. We ain't gonna give up on takin' you down."

"Why?" Don asked, honestly curious. "What's the point? Hun's gone, the Shredder's gone."

Dragonface smirked. "You're still the baddest things out here. If we take you down, we own these streets."

"Aside from that being a significant fallacy of logic on your part, it's not going to happen."

"We'll see about that." Dragonface edged backwards a bit more before he turned and ran. "Later, freak!"

Donatello watched from the alleyway to make sure he was really gone before he turned to Casey. "You okay?"

Casey was shoving himself to his feet. "Yeah. I'm fine. They jumped me as I was comin' back in. Knocked the wind outta me, but that's about it." He managed a jaunty grin. "Pretty lame beat-down, really."

Don returned the smile. "Glad to hear it. Now, let's go upstairs and call someone to collect the garbage."

-==OOO==-

By the time Donatello returned to his lair, the very last thing he wanted to do was venture into Usagi's dimension. The hours with Casey and April had been gruelling at best. Once the police had come, taken statements from the pair, and removed the unconscious Dragons, everything had been stilted and awkward and raw. Casey didn't seem to want to talk about anything at all, and April had struggled to try to keep things normal when they clearly weren't. After the movie was over, Don had escaped as quickly as possible, and he guessed he wasn't the only one relieved.

 _Casey probably doesn't want me to see him struggling with this_ , Don thought to himself. _I don't blame him one bit. It's not like I really want them to see me having trouble, either._

He crossed the lair to the stand he had set up for the portal stick.

_It was nice of Leatherhead to offer to come with me. But if I'm going to get stared at by everybody in the castle, I don't really want anybody else to see that, either._

Before he could talk himself out of going, he keyed in the coordinates and the portal stick sprang to life.

_Bad enough for one whole dimension to think I'm worthless at best and a failure at worst. I don't need anybody from here sharing that opinion._

It was almost time for the evening meal in the castle when Don emerged into the empty inkhouse. He had not wanted to appear in the keep – the guards might have tried to skewer him before they figured out who he was.

_And maybe after, too._

The inkhouse was barren, all the trappings of anyone having ever lived there completely gone. The materials to make ink had not yet been set up, but they sat piled together in the spot that had been Splinter's bed.

Don didn't dare let himself dwell on the pang that sight left in his heart; instead, he pushed open the door and strode out. He approached the first guard he saw – no longer guarding the inkhouse itself, but stationed at a corner down the lane.

"Good evening," Donatello said. "I've come to talk to Honda Ryome-san."

The guard scowled at him. "He will not speak to _you_. None here will pollute our honor with your presence."

Don drew himself up. "I'm not a plague. And I don't care about your honor. I just want some answers."

"Find them for yourself, mongrel." And the guard looked away, his face going stony.

The next two guards Donatello talked to didn't even look at him, let alone respond.

_Fantastic. When Leo was around, they had to pretend that they didn't hate me. Now that he's gone, I guess this is what they were thinking all along._

Since he was getting nowhere inside the castle – and since he did not under any circumstances want to have to fight any more duels – Don decided to head into the village instead. The samurai at the front gate grew an expression on her face like she had eaten pond scum when he approached, but she opened the door before he could even ask.

 _Next time I come, I'm going to pop out down here,_ Don decided as he walked towards the village. _Fewer people to glare at me._

_I hope._

The villagers were bustling around as usual, and though they were not overtly welcoming to Donatello as they saw him coming, they didn't respond to him with the same hostile disgust from the castle. However, no one approached him to speak, and as he passed, he noted furtive glances being cast back up the road.

_Yeah, I bet talking to an outcast isn't great for one's social standing._

Originally, Don had intended to go see the priest, hoping he would be above such behavior, but now he wasn't so sure. However, the choice was taken from him by a familiar voice calling out.

"Kame-sama! It's the Kame-sama!"

Don grinned at the eager dog-child who raced to his side. "Hello, Hiroki."

In a moment, the little dog's father appeared. "Kame-sama. You have returned." He bowed. "Is there anything my family can do for you? We owe you still a great debt."

Don's stomach uncurled at the first kindness he'd seen in the dimension today. "I have some questions. Maybe you can answer them, or at least point me in the right direction. That would be worth more than enough to repay me."

"Then please come," the dog said. "Let us offer you some tea and we will answer anything we can."

In minutes, Donatello was seated on the one soft cushion in the humble home, Hiroki slurping tea beside him and both parents kneeling before him as though he were a Lord. It made Don uncomfortable, but he knew by now that trying to force familiarity on them would make them uncomfortable instead. And he really did want answers.

"Can you tell me why the Daimyo left so suddenly?"

Hiroki's family were but farmers, but they were well able to explain the Daimyo's absence to Donatello.

"It is called _sankin-kotai_ , Kame-sama. All Daimyo are required by the Shogun to live one year in Edo and the next in the han, back and forth. Lord Kawauso had been offered an additional year here in the han due to the suddenness of his ascension, but the time had come for himself and his entire household to journey to Edo."

"Then what about Leo and Master Splinter?"

"The law states that any Heirs of the Daimyo must remain in Edo for their education and also to ensure their loyalty. When the Daimyo marries, his wife and children will do the same."

"So they're hostages?"

"That is a crude way of putting it, though there may be truth in it."

"So, can you tell me where Edo is?"

At that, Hiroki's father shook his head. "No. I have never traveled there. It is a journey of many days, however."

Don sighed, closing his eyes in defeat.

"However, Miyamoto-san has been to Edo many times. He could certainly guide you."

Don's eyes flew open. "Usagi! Of course! Where is he?"

"I believe he went out into the han with a last errand from the young Lord, and to offer to guide your other brothers to Edo if they wished to join the Daimyo."

Don considered. "But he'll want to stop back here for supplies, right?"

"That is likely."

"Okay. If you see him, can you please ask him to come visit me before he goes onto Edo? He knows how to find me."

"We shall. Anything for you, Kame-sama."

Don smiled. "Now you're the ones doing me a huge favor. I really appreciate it."

Hiroki piped up, "You saved me! I don't care what anybody says about you! You're the most honorable person _ever_!"

"I'm glad you think so," Don told him. "You're kind of alone in that opinion."

"Yes, it seems we are," Hiroki's father said quietly. Then, with a more cautious expression, "Take care in our world, Kame-sama. Misunderstandings and tales of deviant behavior spread like the wind in the countryside. Because of the young Lord, the people here tolerate you. And some of our friends may like you as well, but they dare not show it openly or risk censure."

Don nodded. "I guessed as much."

"But farther out in the han, away from the castle and the control and influence of the young Lord, others may not be so stilted in their response."

"You think I could be in danger?" Don asked, eye-ridges rising.

Hiroki's father's eyes fell. "I think, Kame-sama, you would be very much disappointed in my countrymen who forget, sometimes, the true meaning of honor."

-==OOO==-

The following afternoon, as promised, Donatello returned to visit with Leatherhead and Honeycutt. He did not disclose the news he had received from April and Casey, but he told them about the fight and his trip to Usagi's dimension.

Honeycutt's voice carried the tinge of a frown. "Why on earth should you be so despised, Donatello, merely for experimenting with the art of smithing?"

Don sighed. "It's not just that, though that's part of it. Let's see."

He began ticking points off on his fingers.

"First, we're dealing with a world with a lot of preconceptions about everything, including ninja. Usagi warned me way back at the start that my only carrying one weapon would make me suspect because apparently _real_ samurai carry two. So the people could look at my brothers and forget the ninja part and think samurai instead, but with me they can't."

"That's ridiculous!" Honeycutt exclaimed. Leatherhead shushed him.

"Second, since outsiders and ninja are both considered to be untrustworthy, I think it was easier for the people to center all that mistrust on me, especially after we tried to play up me as the least worthy of my brothers. We sort of set everybody up to assume I was the worst, and they believed it. I think they still go all 'ninja scum!' about me, but forget the others are ninja, too."

Leatherhead snorted, but gestured for Don to continue.

"Third, once you start adding in the blacksmithing, then I really do look, to them, like more of an outcast than ever. Samurai are supposed to be cultured, into the arts and such, not down in the grime of weaponscraft. It would be like a king making their own dinner reservations – it's work that is socially beneath their status. But that was what I chose to do, rather than standing guard all the time or perfecting my calligraphy or helping Leo run the han. So I was perceived either as not a samurai pretending to deserve the rank of samurai, which is deplorable to them, or else I was a samurai wallowing in the mud with the pigs – equally deplorable."

"And your brothers?" Honeycutt asked archly.

Don sighed. "Mikey wasn't really there all that much – he's been off with his girlfriend. Raph was in and out between patrols, too. And Leo made it clear that I was his brother and should be respected, but that only goes so far. They tolerated me because they didn't want to displease him, but nothing he could say could make them change their opinion."

"I wonder what they would have made of me," Leatherhead said, tipping his head.

Don huffed and smiled. "Probably they would have thought you were a scholar and you'd have been okay as long as you didn't get into a fight. Apparently it's permitted to be smart – to a point – as long as you always behave like a refined, cultured philosopher." Then he sighed. "But I get the sense that there's even a limit on that. This is a world heavily vested in the status quo. There isn't a lot of room for innovation or discovery."

The Professor crossed his arms across his robotic body. "Ridiculous and small-minded. Even my own people of D'Hoonib, who were primarily interested in me for my innovation of weaponry, still appreciated genius for its own sake."

Leatherhead nodded. "Such staid thinking is new to me as well. Amongst the Utrom, innovation and discovery and creativity and experimentation are paramount."

Don shrugged. "So, anyway. That's why I had so much trouble, I guess." Then, casting around for a change of topic, Don was struck by a sudden thought. He turned to the Professor.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything, my boy," Honeycutt said, warmth returning to his tone.

"Why have you stayed on Earth so long, Professor? I thought you were only visiting for the wedding, and that was months ago, long before my family even went over there." Donatello shifted his gaze to Leatherhead. "And while I'm on the subject, why didn't you go back with the Utrom after Ch'rell's trial? I mean, I'm glad you didn't or you wouldn't have been around to help with the Outbreak and you wouldn't be here now, but...well, I don't understand. And I just realized I never really asked you about it."

Leatherhead sighed. "One answer is the other, my friend. Do you recall the fall I took as the Shredder's ship launched?"

Donatello shivered. "We thought you'd died. Of course I remember."

"The Utrom believed it as well," Professor Honeycutt said. "That is why they did not retrieve him when they rescued you and your family from the Shredder's ship. It was not until I returned to Earth for the wedding of April O'Neil and Casey Jones that I discovered we had been mistaken and that Leatherhead was still alive."

"Once Professor Honeycutt realized the error, he intended to communicate it to the Utrom upon his return to the Homeworld," Leatherhead said. "However, before we had that opportunity, Ch'rell and his dimensional alternative self attacked."

Donatello's eyes widened. "Your lair was pretty much destroyed. Most of your equipment got fried with all the structural damage in that area after the Technodrome tore apart the city."

"Precisely," Leatherhead nodded. "And, as you can see, it's still in fairly poor condition. Anyway, among the things I lost to that attack was the communications hub the Professor brought with him to reconnect with the Utrom Collective. That is why Professor Honeycutt is still on Earth; we will not be able to contact the Utrom until we have finished rebuilding it from scratch. Thankfully, we have nearly completed the work and should soon be able to reestablish contact with my people."

"Oh."

Donatello knew it would be polite, not to mention honorable, to offer to help with the rebuilding, but the traitorous part of him that had not stopped hurting for months refused to allow it. As terrible and unkind as it was, he could not let himself facilitate some of his only remaining friends leaving him, too.

He was saved from having to say any more by a sudden, urgent beeping.

"What is it?" Honeycutt asked.

Donatello pulled out his Shell Cell. "After last night, I set up my network to track any chatter on social media from the Purple Dragons. I had a feeling they'd try again. They're dumb and predictable like that."

Then he groaned as he skimmed the information from his network's findings.

Honeycutt leaned over. "Trouble?"

"What else? According to these conversation threads, it looks like the entire Purple Dragon force who didn't get picked up last night is going to converge on Casey and April's place tonight. At least this time they don't have Hun. It'll just be us against a crowd, instead of us against a crowd _and_ a giant, freaky dude who looks like a turtle got a little too friendly with a sea urchin."

Leatherhead chuckled. "In Hun's case, an affiliation with reptile DNA could only be an improvement."

Don couldn't help but smile. "Well, it made him stronger, faster, and spinier. Kinda like me when I mutated during the Outbreak."

At that, Leatherhead shook his head. "Hun could never resemble you, Donatello, even when you were mindless and lost."

"Do you intend to go and confront the Dragons?" the Professor asked.

"Yeah," Don nodded. "If as many of them show up as I think, it's too much for Casey and April on their own."

"What about the authorities? Surely the police of Earth should be of some help."

"It's...complicated."

Honeycutt stared at Donatello, waiting.

Don sighed. "Okay. So, obviously I can't call the police myself because I can't give a proper statement with the whole being-a-turtle thing. If Casey or April call the police, it's fine as long as they didn't get into the fight; if they did, they're just as liable, legally, for any injuries they cause even if they would get it thrown out of court. But it's a pain in the shell until then."

"And," Leatherhead raised an eye-ridge, "you wish to give those newer or younger members a chance at redemption."

"That was always more Leo and Mikey than me," Don replied. "They believe that there are usually a couple of people who aren't really committed to joining the Dragons in the crowd, and a fight with us might knock some sense into them so they choose another path. But if they get picked up by the police, it goes on their record."

"I see." Honeycutt tipped the Fugitoid's head. "Do you require any assistance?"

Don shrugged. "I don't think so. Casey and April are pretty good, and between the three of us we should be able to handle things."

"Even so." Leatherhead rose from his place. "I will accompany you. I would feel better if I could keep an eye on you – you are still healing, after all."

"Suit yourself, LH."

-==OOO==-

Over the course of the next week, Donatello had cause to be very grateful Leatherhead had volunteered to assist. In eight days, the Purple Dragons harried the 2nd Time Around shop four different times.

The first was the all-out assault, the Dragons actually breaking into the shop in droves. It took the combined efforts of Casey, April, Don, and Leatherhead to drive them out, and only then when some neighbors again called 911 for help. The shop was trashed – though, honestly, most of the damage inside came from Leatherhead throwing gang members into display cases – and every window was shattered during the assault.

The second and third attacks were smaller: once a trio of Dragons ambushed April when she was unloading groceries while Casey was up front nailing plywood over the broken windows (and they paid dearly for forgetting how competent she was in defending herself), and once a handful of them tried to force the back door only to be met with a fully-armed and incredibly angry Casey Jones ready and waiting.

But the fourth attack left Donatello sick with fury and a little guilt.

The Purple Dragons had tried to firebomb the shop – and had more than partially succeeded.

Donatello returned to his lair covered in soot and sweat. _If it weren't for Casey and his baseball skills, I'm not sure there'd be a building left standing at all. He knocked most of the explosives back out the window and into the street. I think that's the only reason they eventually gave up. They were getting tired of having to duck their own explosions._

_But it's not enough._

_Even with a couple of cops sitting on the front steps, Casey and April had to go to a hotel. And their home is pretty much wrecked. It's not fair! The Dragons are targeting them trying to get at us...me. They didn't ask for any of this._

_The Shredder burned down April's place once already. It's my fault the Dragons almost did it again._

With a sudden, angry cry, Donatello launched his bo like a javelin, not caring that it ricocheted off a concrete wall hard enough to break a pane of glass in the subway car nearby.

"Why are they doing this?" Don yelled, his voice loud and strange in the normally-silent lair.

He took a long step forward and punched the nearest solid object - one of the supports for the newly-built half-pipe that just needed some final sanding and painting. His fist went through the wooden post and the whole half-pipe creaked ominously.

_They just keep coming after April and Casey. And I can't make them stop. Not on my own._

_My friends are getting hurt and it's all my fault._

Donatello's head dropped and he might have given in to either the desire to punch more things or to cry in frustration except that a moment later there was a strange, watery sound and a tingle of energy in the air.

Donatello quickly collected himself, darting over to the cabinet next to the dojo for some strips of cloth normally reserved for wrapping around punching bags to reduce their abrasiveness on bare fists; he bound the cloth over his knuckles to hide that they were split and bleeding. Then he scooped up a towel to rapidly wipe away the worst of the soot.

As the magical doorway formed, Donatello moved to stand across from it, his heart beating with sudden emotion.

"Leo?"

"I am sorry, my friend," came a familiar voice. Miyamoto Usagi emerged from the portal. "Greetings, Donatello-san. Please forgive me for intruding."

Don gulped down his feelings of disappointment and managed a smile. "You're always welcome, Usagi. What's up?"

Usagi's eyes widened at Donatello's disheveled state. "My friend! You have been in a battle."

Don shrugged. "Yeah. But it's no big deal."

"On the contrary, your current state tells me it must have been rather an ordeal." He glanced around. "If you will permit me to be an overly familiar guest in your home, I can prepare you some tea while you take the chance to bathe before we talk."

Don knew it was rude to accept the offer by either world's standards, but the sweat and soot and his raw nerves were all clamoring for a shower. He sighed. "If you're sure you don't mind, that sounds really welcome right about now."

Usagi nodded. "It is no trouble between friends. Go and care for yourself. I recall your kitchen well enough to manage. I am in no hurry and would rather visit with you when you are more yourself."

"And I don't smell as bad?" Don teased.

"That did not enter my thinking at all, I assure you."

"Just your nose."

"Well...perhaps."

Don laughed. "Okay, fine! I'll shower. Back in a few."

Fifteen minutes later, Don was clean, had properly bandaged the cuts he'd taken in the fight – and from punching a plank of wood – and was feeling in control of himself again. He left his mask and pads soaking in soapy water to get the soot out of them, and just pulled a wide bathrobe around himself to ward off the chill.

When he appeared in the kitchen, Usagi was just pouring two mugs of tea.

He looked up and smiled. "So, is that what passes for a proper kimono in your world?"

Don shook his head. "No way. This is just my nice, warm, fuzzy towel with sleeves."

"Hmm. Such an invention would not go amiss in my world, particularly after bathing or an inadvertent dunking into a river."

Don pulled out a chair and sat before one of the mugs of tea. "So, what brings you here, Usagi?" Then, with a little concern, "I assume if something was wrong you would have said so already."

"Of course." Usagi took his seat. "Though it may be more correct to say that were there _an emergency_ , I would have declared it upon arrival."

Don frowned. "So there is something wrong?"

Usagi sipped his tea. When he looked up, his expression was grave. "Not...precisely. I was waylaid by a few of the villagers in Lord Kawauso's han who told me that you wished to speak with me."

"Well, yeah. I mean, I'm kind of hoping you can give me a better answer than they did about what's going on with Leo and everything. But I also want to know if you can help me figure out how to get to Edo so I can drop in on him there."

Usagi peered into his tea for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was low, though he did meet Don's eyes.

"I do not feel entirely comfortable speaking to you of your brother Leonardo without his permission. But I will say this much – he did not have any choice but to travel to Edo with the Daimyo when the orders were levied by the Shogun. Such is the duty of the Heir."

"But what about Master Splinter?"

"Your Sensei had been battling a dangerous relapse of the poison, and it was determined that his best option for recovery was to journey to Edo where there are better healers with more experience with such ailments. The trip to Edo is long, but the carriages used by the Daimyo are rather comfortable and Leonardo-san gave Raphael-san his word that he would take great care not to exhaust or weaken Master Splinter."

"Did you talk to Raph?"

"I did." Usagi nodded. "The Daimyo released me of my service to him, but Leonardo-san asked me to inform both your brothers as to the situation before I continued on my journey. Raphael-san was rather close to the castle and so consulted with Leonardo-san before they set off. He joined me in the village where Michelangelo-san is staying to convey to us both the promise Leonardo had sworn."

Don peered at him. "And...they're all okay with this?"

"Not remotely. When I first informed Raphael-san, he nearly took off down the road without even allowing me to finish my words. And Michelangelo-san seemed not to have realized Master Splinter's illness was so severe as to require the intervention of more knowledgeable healers."

Don sighed. "I guess I'm glad I'm not the only one in the dark."

"No." Usagi shook his head. "You are not."

Don went silent and drank some of his tea, lost in his thoughts.

"My friend," Usagi spoke after a while, "I must ask. Are you...all right?"

Don barked a laugh before he could stop himself. "Of _course_ I'm not! I'm here on my own while my brothers are scattered apart in another dimension and my father is sick and I can't even see him!"

Then Donatello took a deep breath and forced himself to calm. "It's...it's just been hard. And really unexpected."

"I imagine so."

"Hey, so, can you tell me how to get to Edo from the Daimyo's castle?" Don asked, switching the subject before the gloom settling over him could take hold. "I want to program my portal stick so that I can get to Edo and visit Leo."

"It will be many days before they reach it," Usagi warned, "but I should be able to provide you a map and directions."

"That'll work. I'll probably have to go to the castle one more time to calibrate it anyway, but at least then I can give Leo some time to get there and go talk to him."

Donatello abandoned his tea, no longer particularly thirsty for it, and grabbed a nearby notebook and pencil. It took him about half an hour to pick Usagi's brain before he had a map detailed enough that he thought he could make it work based on his existing knowledge of the dimension.

As they finished, Usagi looked up to Don. "Would you like me to remain with you to keep you company for a time? I know I am not your family, but perhaps even a guest is preferable to the silence of solitude."

One part of Donatello's heart surged at the idea – the lair's quiet was _maddening_ at times – but most of him rebelled. Somehow, he could not bear to let Usagi see or understand how lonely he really was, how hard this experience had become.

So he shook his head and forced himself to smile. "Thanks, Usagi, but I think I'll be okay. I appreciate you visiting, though."

"If you need to find me, I will leave word with the family in the village who holds you in high esteem as to where I will be traveling next. And I will try to visit you again sometime."

"I'd like that."

But as Usagi cast the magic that would lead him home, a cold foreboding curled in his stomach.

_I do not believe Leonardo-san truly understands the full impact of his choices. And something else seems wrong as well. The Leonardo I met at the Battle Nexus would never let his family scatter so far apart, nor see any of his brothers left to face the world alone. I will go to Edo as soon as I can to speak to him myself._

_It is the least I can do after it was my request that led to this in the first place._

Behind him, when the doorway closed and Donatello was alone once more, the turtle peered around at the lair. It was beautiful, perfect, everything he could ever have wanted for his family.

And yet it was his alone.

Don's hand fell to the Moving Book. Without a belt to tuck it in, he had slipped it into the pocket of his robe.

_Even if it doesn't matter anymore, I've still got to keep trying. There are a few things I can still do around here to make it even better. I've still got some friends left who might want to visit, anyway._

But he thought of the Purple Dragons, or the Utrom communication device Leatherhead and Honeycutt were working on, and shivered.

_At least for now._

-==OOO==-

He stood on a grassy hill far above the rest of the forest. The sun was warm on his shell, but the shade of the enormous tree at the crown of the rise cast an inviting, welcome shadow. He stepped under the branches of the tree and marveled at them, at their vitality, their strength. Nothing could have cut a single limb from the trunk that was so strong.

But then a cold wind began to blow. The sky changed from blue to grey as the world shifted.

And the trunk of the tree, once vibrantly brown, began to fade. Bark started to peel off. Leaves fell prematurely.

And those solid branches started to crack.

Before his eyes, one, then another dropped from the tree, shorn off by a weakness that seemed to grow from within. No lightning had struck, no saws tore at them, but they grew thin and frail and they fell.

Somehow, he knew if the sun came back, the tree would survive.

But the sky stayed stubbornly dark, and growing darker.

_Beware the easiest path, for it lies. And darkness will engulf it._

Michelangelo woke with a start.

"Man, what a weird dream!

He rubbed a hand over his head and was surprised when it came away wet with sweat.

"Gross! Mitsu'll head for the hills if I show up to breakfast sweatier than Raph after a run. Better go take a bath."

By the time Mikey hit the morning sunlight, the dream had already faded into insignificance.

* * *


	3. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm behind on responding to reviews, but I'll try to catch up in the next few days. Sorry about that.
> 
> Okay, so I'll admit it. This is the straight-up saddest thing I've ever published. This chapter is ANGST from start to finish and gets worse and worse. And I'd apologize for it, but I can't. It's the story that needed to happen and this is where it needed to crash and burn.
> 
> For those concerned about certain characters behaving...oddly. Let me just say this: stick with me into Act 4. I know, I KNOW that the are not themselves. Trust me, it isn't me bashing anybody. There is a reason for everything. And before you know it, things will shift once again, just as abruptly. And, in their way, just as painfully.
> 
> One more chapter after this one in Act 3 which is going to change everything and we'll be onto Act 4. And all the truths, hard and welcome, that come with it.
> 
> Enjoy!

When Donatello left the dojo the morning after Usagi's visit, he found he had a text from April.

_Okay if we come down today?_

He responded at once. _Sure. Whenever you want. I'll be here all day._

A minute later, April replied, _Sounds good. We'll bring lunch and be there in an hour or so._

Don glanced around the lair. He drew his Moving Book from his pocket.

_An hour is plenty of time. I can at least fix the half-pipe and maybe get a little more done in at least one other room._

Donatello lost himself in his work, so when the security system sounded the tones for Casey and April, he almost dropped the stack of comic books he was meticulously arranging on the shelves in Michelangelo's room in surprise.

The tones also made him chuckle as he finished up and headed down to the main area to greet them.

Don had programmed his security system to make a specific noise for everyone who had a Shell Cell and a code to the lair, sort of like a personalized doorbell. Casey's was the goal buzzer used in Madison Square Garden during hockey games. April's was a slightly-robotic female voice shouting "Eureka!"

Because Casey tended to walk a bit faster than April, his signal sounded first, so it resulted in a sequence that sounded as though someone had scored a goal – and an AI watching the game did not yet understand how to properly celebrate.

Don easily hopped the balcony and landed on the floor just as Casey and April entered, laden with bags from their favorite takeout Thai place.

"Hey Donnie!" Casey called.

"We got your favorite, _without_ the dangerous hot peppers." April smiled at him.

It seemed so normal, and it should have been. But it wasn't. Both Casey and April had bags under their eyes heavier than the ones in their hands, and their clothing carried the faintest smell of smoke about it.

Don set the table, trying to follow their lead in making normal chatter as they settled, but there was a weight to it all that was so thick he thought it might suffocate them.

Only when they had eaten did Casey clear his throat.

"So, Donnie. Uh…"

Don looked up at them, and he dipped his head. "It's okay. Whatever you have to say. Don't worry."

Casey sighed. "Well, me and April talked last night at the hotel and...well, we made a decision. And it ain't exactly fair to you, ya know, but with Purple Dragons tryin' ta burn down our place, I think maybe _fair_ went out the window a while back."

"You're telling me," Donatello said with honest feeling.

April jumped in. "We...we only have a few choices, and the one that's most logical is the one that isn't fair to you."

Ice crawled into Donatello's chest.

"See," Casey said, "between Dragon creeps makin' our lives miserable and...my mom...well, we was thinkin'..."

And Don understood. He finished the thought before Casey could, as though making the cut himself would hurt less than letting the necessary decision tear him apart.

"You're leaving."

"Just for a while," April rushed to say. "Until things here calm down. And it will give us the chance to help Casey's mom. She lives alone and this is hard on her."

"Ya know, we thought about bunking here with you," Casey said, "since you have about the coolest place ever going down here. But it's too risky."

Donatello nodded. He'd reached that conclusion himself. "Unless you stayed down here without ever going to the surface, at some point somebody would see something. And if the Purple Dragons are looking for you, they'll eventually follow you."

"And we can't stay down here full time," April said. "Casey's mom needs us."

Something in the back of Don's throat wanted to scream _I need you_ , but he forced it back. "So where are you going to be?"

"Ma's going to put us up in her place in Peekskill for now," Casey said. "It'll be a little small, but at least it's far away from Purple Dragon Headquarters."

"Yeah," Don agreed. "They won't go looking for you that far out of the city."

April reached across the table to touch Don's arm. "I know this will make it harder for us to see you, but I want you to know that you are welcome there. Casey's mom understands how important it is for us to spend time together."

Donatello drew in a deep breath. When he turned to April, his voice was controlled and his smile was mostly genuine.

"I understand, April. I really do. And...we'll make it work, okay? We'll figure it out."

Don forced himself to believe that until they left a while later, after taking yet another tour of the lair and exclaiming with only sometimes-forced enthusiasm for his work. But as soon as the heavy door slid closed and locked behind them, the rattle of panic that had been buried deep broke loose.

_They're leaving._

_They're leaving me._

_Like Leatherhead and Professor Honeycutt will leave sooner or later._

_What will I have when everyone is gone?_

But before those feelings could build into more distress than Donatello dared allow himself, he ruthlessly quashed them, breathing deeply until he nearly gave himself stomach cramps.

It was a technique he had been forced to learn in order to serve as a medic for his family – detached and collected. If pressed, Donatello had control over his emotions more than equal to the total lack of such control practiced by Raph.

The downside, of course, was that at some point all that pent up anguish and fury and grief would break free of the moorings Donatello wove to keep them at bay, and they would unleash their force in one horrible, uncontrollable maelstrom.

_But if I wait long enough, there won't be anybody to see, so what does it matter what happens then?_

Don slowed his breathing and found that he had clamped his hands so tightly around his Moving Book that he had left grooves from its edges in his skin. He forced himself to let go and shake out each had one at a time while he used the other to flip to his place in the Book.

_Nothing to do but get back to work._

-==OOO==-

For the next unending days, Don fell into a pattern. He worked feverishly every minute, stopping only to eat when the Moving Book had an open space and his body shook from low blood sugar. He slept in hour-long spurts rather than a larger chunk because any more sleep brought with it intensely disturbing nightmares, one of which had been so bad he threw up over the side of the bed.

And when his feelings pressed in and sleep would not come, he trained in the dojo until his knees shook and the floor was wet from his sweat.

Leatherhead and the Professor emailed and called, but Donatello begged off an actual visit via the excuse of helping April and Casey prepare to move; April had called Leatherhead herself to tell him about the plan and the diagnosis. Thankfully, Leatherhead failed to realize that April and Casey needed only one day to gather their remaining, un-charred things and leave, so Donatello was spared having to deal with anyone but the ghosts that filled his lair.

He did get a few texts from April as she settled into life with her mother-in-law in a tiny two-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a shared house. Mostly, April texted to tell Don her feelings so she didn't voice them to Casey or his mom.

_Donnie, if I ever smell like old lady, you have my permission to wash me and all my belongings in whatever substance will get rid of the scent._

_Cheese goes on the LEFT. I got another lecture and demonstration of the crisper drawers again._

_Casey's not a mama's boy, but I sort of wish he was right now. At least then she'd spend more time doting on him and less finding ways to vent her feelings on me. I know she's sick and scared and probably can't help it, so I try to be nice. Nice is hard some days._

_Did you know there's apparently a wrong way to hang magnets on a fridge? Neither did I._

_I'm at the laundromat for what feels like the tenth time this week. I keep trying to tell her that she doesn't have to wear her best clothes just to get tested at the hospital, especially since she's just going to take them off anyway. Evidently this means I have no class._

_No, thank you, I would rather not compare the needle marks from today's blood-draw to yesterday's. Thanks for asking, though. Oh, wait. You didn't._

Sometimes he replied, sometimes he fed her a useful comeback, sometimes he just sent a smiley face so she knew he'd gotten it. But he was careful not to trouble her with his own feelings, no matter how down he got, and he make a real effort to be supportive even with just a short message in return.

Sixteen days after Casey and April left, Donatello checked off the box on one item in the Moving Book he had been dreading more and more: Preliminary calculations for coordinates to Edo.

Because now he had no choice but to go back to Usagi's dimension; he couldn't point the portal stick to Edo until he did some testing at coordinates he already knew.

_Hey, on the bright side, maybe I can find Raph or go see Mikey. They deserve to know about April and Casey and everything. Maybe they'll want to come back to help bash in some Purple Dragon heads._

_Maybe they'll see the lair and want to stay a while._

_Maybe it'll feel like I have brothers again and I'm not alone in the world._

But even as he gathered his supplies and powered up the portal stick, Donatello felt a deep foreboding pressing heavily against his gut.

_Even so, it can't get worse. Can it?_

Unfortunately, the answer to that question would turn out to be – yes. _Significantly_.

-==OOO==-

Having learned his lesson the last time, Don adjusted his portal to appear in Usagi's dimension outside the castle wall to avoid yet another confrontation with the guards. He chose a spot away from the village as well, down a small hill and within a clump of trees so he wasn't immediately visible to the guards on the wall or from the road.

_I'm glad that this area has pretty mild Novembers compared to home. It's still plenty warm, and the woods are still green. Easier to blend in._

_I am not interested in dealing with anybody today if I can help it._

_Okay. Time to get to work._

For about two hours, Donatello used the portal stick and his bag of other equipment to take a series of readings. He wandered the forest around the village to get a number of examples, building up a map of dozens of known coordinates all around the castle. He ventured into a few of the farmers' fields as well for variety, employing all his ninja stealth to pass unseen.

With almost eighty data-points, Donatello sat down in the hollow of a large tree's roots to do some calculations. In the mild wind and the sun-dappled shade, his fingers flew across his notebook with a speed better than a calculator, and the complex work lulled him into a nearly meditative sort of peace.

Which was broken when a weight smashed into him from behind.

Donatello's reaction was pure instinct. His notebook and pencil fell from his hands as he bent with the blow, kicking his legs out and curling his plastron down to the ground, causing his attacker to roll down his shell. Shifting his weight, Don pushed backwards with his arms and curled his legs, which sent him back against the tree trunk. His feet hit the bark and he kicked off again, this time into a forward roll in midair.

He hit the ground in front of his attacker, already pivoting on one foot and drawing his bo defensively.

Lying on top of Donatello's notebook and equipment was a burly bear in mismatched clothing carrying several knives on his person.

"What do you want?" Don demanded. He was watching his opponent carefully, but he was most concerned about the portal stick in the bag to one side. If that got smashed, he wouldn't be able to get home.

The bear sat up and snarled. "Ninja dishonor!"

"What, because I didn't let you clobber me from behind?" Don shot back. "You're the one who attacked me without warning!"

Before the bear could reply, Don's head snapped up. "Come out! I know you're there!"

Fifteen more armed creatures of various types began to melt out of the trees.

Don spun his bo once. "I don't suppose it's too much to hope you're the welcoming party?"

"Actually, you ain't wrong about that, Donnie."

Don looked up as a familiar green shape dropped from the tree high above.

"Raph!"

Raphael landed in a crouch before he rose, grinning. "Long time no see, bro!" He strode over and punched Don in the bicep.

"What's this all about?" Don asked, smiling back. He glanced at the bear he'd upended as he returned his bo to its place on his shell. "Friends of yours?"

"Yeah. Figured we should see if you've been gettin' soft since I last saw ya. Guys, this is Donnie, my other brother." Raph waved his arm to encompass the group that was gathering around them. "These're some of the guys who been helpin' me keep things under control in the han. They ain't samurai or ninja, but they got somethin' to fight for."

There was a chorus of low greetings and a few nods of acknowledgement. The fact that no one bowed made Donatello feel simultaneously better and worse – better because maybe these guys would be more forgiving of his non-samurai status, worse because he didn't know if that meant they didn't like him already.

"So what brings you around, bro?" Raph asked. "Ain't seen you in what feels like forever."

Donatello bit back the instinct to give Raph an exact number of weeks, days, and hours since they'd seen one another and just shrugged instead. "I was trying to figure out how to get the portal stick to open a doorway to Edo."

Raph nodded. "Going to see Master Splinter?"

"Among other things." Don looked more closely at his brother. Raph was wearing not the finer kimono and clothing from the last time he'd seen him, but the common garb of the farmers who formed his little band. He was also wearing shoulder armor and a pair of bracers.

_I wonder if Mikey's the same way, assimilating himself into this culture so thoroughly it looks natural._

"So what's up in your world?" Raph asked.

" _Your_ world? Not _our_ world?"

Raph shrugged. "Sure. I've kinda got my own life now, you know. Don't need two worlds. I'm movin' on. So, yeah, yours and mine. You gonna tell me what's up in yours?"

Don fought to keep his voice even. "A lot, actually."

"Yeah?" Raph looked to the others. "We good takin' a break so I can catch up with my bro?"

"Whatever you say, Raphael," one said. The group dispersed, including the bear who was still grumbling. Don took the chance to make sure nothing had been crushed in their skirmish while he began detailing all that had changed in New York.

Examining his equipment gave him an excuse to not have to meet Raph's eyes when he described how Casey and April had been driven from their home by the Purple Dragons. It didn't, however, prevent the predictable explosion.

"Shell, Donnie! You should'a wiped the floor with those clowns! How could ya let some punks burn down their place? _You_ should'a protected them!"

Don flinched but he looked up with his own anger and met Raph's burning accusation head-on. "I tried! I'm just one turtle, Raph! Even with Leatherhead and Casey and April all fighting, we were outnumbered!"

Raph crossed his arms against his tunic. "And how many of 'em came back for round two because you only gave 'em a love tap instead of takin' them down the first time?"

Don thrust his things into his bag and got to his feet to face his brother. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"I know you got this hang-up about not finishing your battles, but now people are gettin' hurt because you won't do what you gotta to win!"

"Are you suggesting that _killing_ those Purple Dragons was the answer?"

Raph rolled his eyes. " _Duh_. Or did you get stupid not fighting for so long?"

"Not fighting? I was fighting _all the time_! Before the Dragons took out the shop, they were ambushing me every time I went outside!"

"That's my point!" Raph yelled, leaning forward and poking Don's chest with a thick finger. "You should'a taken care of 'em sooner. Then they wouldn't have been _able_ to hurt Casey and April."

Don's anger burned but suddenly a cold sense of _wrongness_ filled him. When he looked up at his brother, it was with concern. "Are you okay, Raph?"

"No, of _course_ I ain't okay! Our friends got their home torched on _your_ watch!"

"That's not what I mean." Don kept his words measured and neutral. "You've never cared that I don't like to kill my opponents before."

"Sure I cared!" Raph spat. "But it didn't matter so much when you had me and Leo to cover your shell! Now that you're on your own and people are dependin' on ya, it's time to step up and stop fightin' like it's playtime."

Don actually stook a step back in surprise. "You've never said...nobody ever…"

Raph crowded into his personal space. "Just 'cause we didn't wanna hurt your little feelings doesn't mean we weren't coverin' for ya the whole time. Why do ya think Casey and I had to go out and bash so many heads? Because too many walked away if they were fightin' _you_!"

Donatello's head was swimming and his heart was pounding. "No! I won't...I won't believe it! How I fight was _never_ a problem before we came here!"

Raph actually laughed in his face. "Or maybe it's that until we came here, we could overlook how bad you are at it."

The stung pride coiled in Don's gut and he drew his bo again. "I may not be a walking _fist_ , but I'm just as much a ninja as you are!"

Raph's face curled into a cruel smile. "Aw, so little Donnie wants to prove how good he is, huh?"

"Any time you're ready."

Raph drew his own pair of sai. "Hey guys! Wanna come see what a _real_ beat-down looks like?"

Even as he readied himself, Donatello's heart quaked. Everything about this was wrong. Raph was not _cruel_. Raph _couldn't_ have been killing Don's opponents behind his back all this time. Raph wasn't like _this_.

...Was he?

_Maybe the only way to know for sure is to see him fight. And it can't hurt to remind him that I'm not so easy to beat._

Cognizant of their audience, Donatello tightened his grip. "I'm not going easy on you, Raph."

"It ain't gonna matter in a minute, Donnie-boy."

Raph charged Donatello at speed, sai poised to strike. When Don caught the assault on his bo, his arms shook with the force of his brother's blow.

_Raph's not pulling his punches at all. He's fighting like this is real._

The shock of that thought halted Don for a moment, and Raphael took advantage, slamming a foot into Don's gut.

Don stumbled back but didn't lose his balance and instead swung his bo, forcing Raph to dodge the overhand strike.

"You show him, Raphael!" "Don't let that turtle defeat you, Raphael-san!" "Teach him the meaning of strength until he bleeds!"

The shouting of Raph's friends around them reminded Donatello so sharply of his duel with Honda Ryome, it made something in his chest ache.

_Are we...still brothers?_

That thought froze any anger Don had been carrying in its tracks.

_What the shell am I doing?_

"Raph, this won't solve anything!" Don cried, even as he ducked another kick and blocked a stab of the left-hand sai.

"Not all of us can fix our problems by thinking, brainiac! Sometimes fighting is the only way!"

"Well, I don't believe that!"

Raph caught Don's bo in the prongs of his right-hand sai. He leaned close and growled, "And that's why you'll always lose."

Donatello didn't even seen the snap-kick coming until it collided with his head and he dropped to the ground blinking stars away. The cheering that erupted at his fall faded in and out of his hearing and Don could only focus on breathing and getting his eyes to see straight.

Raphael crouched on the grass beside Donatello's head. "You ashamed enough yet?"

"This is wrong," Don managed. "You're _wrong_."

"Let's get one thing straight, _genius_. You ain't right about everything and you sure as _shell_ ain't right about me. And I'm gonna prove it to you one way or another."

Donatello took a deep breath as his instincts screamed in alarm. Raph had backed off and was calling for something from one of his hooting, jeering friends.

When Raphael reappeared in Donatello's field of vision, he held the receiver for the portal stick.

"Leo left this behind in case you wanted to come talk to me. But I'm gonna tell you right now, I ain't listening to a single word you say again until you either kick my shell in a _real_ fight or bring me proof you ain't fightin' like it's ametuer hour anymore. You got me?"

Don blinked. "Proof?"

Raph's smile was dark and feral. "You know what I mean. Or you're gettin' stupid as well as soft."

Donatello did. It made his heart hurt with a wash of red-hot pain. "I can't...I won't do that, Raph."

"Then we ain't got nothin' to talk about." And Raph dropped the receiver and threw both sai into it, impaling it. Then Raph slammed one foot down on the nearer sai's pommel, snapping the gadget in half.

Don pushed to his knees, then his feet, though he shook with the effort. "Raph…"

"Go home to your little toys and your video games or whatever the shell you do," Raph said with obvious disgust. "Don't come back unless you got a spine in there somewhere."

"Raph…"

Raphael stormed away, rejoining his crowd of friends who alternately patted him on the shell or punched his shoulder and turned to hurl insults at Donatello.

By the time Donatello's brain was working right again and his body was obeying his commands, they were gone.

Mechanically, Donatello gathered up his belongings, including the ruined pieces of the portal stick's receiver. He retrieved the portal stick and opened a doorway back to the lair.

But it was as though someone else entirely was moving his body, as if he were a puppet hanging from strings.

Everything felt numb.

Donatello entered the lair and dropped his bag where he stood. The portal stick he managed to return to its stand, though he didn't register the action.

He wandered into the dojo.

_Raph. He…_

Donatello crumpled to the mats in the center of the room and curled on his side.

_I don't...understand…_

He slid into darkness.

_Donatello._

_Donatello, my son._

_Father?_

_My son._

_You are a failure._

_No...I can't be._

_You are._

_You are a disgrace._

_This isn't real._

_It is real._

_It's real._

_Leo?_

_I'm not here._

_I am here._

_We covered for you._

_We let you be weak._

_It's our fault._

_My fault._

_Your fault._

_My fault._

_You are weak._

_I am weak._

_I am?_

_We cannot be family._

_You don't belong with us._

_You are a failure._

_I failed._

_We don't need you._

_I need you._

_Nobody needs you._

_I'll die._

_Then die._

_At least it will be honorable._

_You're not honorable._

_I'm trying._

_Stop._

_Don't try._

_We need you._

_We don't need you._

_I love you._

_It's my fault._

_You are a failure._

_You are weak._

_Family no more._

_Never again._

_I don't love you._

Senseless, Donatello fought against specters and fears whose form was at one moment physical and the next only in his mind. Images of his brothers and his father swirled around him, sometimes comforting and sometimes attacking.

The floor was solid and sometimes it was cloud and smoke.

Reality was breaking.

And Donatello broke with it.

-==OOO==-

Donatello woke from one nightmare into the next. His Shell Cell was ringing.

Don pushed himself from the dojo mats and fumbled for it in his belt, noticing that his head was clear and the world seemed to be made of solids again. "April?"

"Donnie. Did I wake you up? I wasn't sure if you'd be awake already."

Don glanced at the time on the phone. To his surprise, eighteen hours had passed since the fight with Raph and he had only the vaguest idea where the time had gone. He cleared his throat, not wanting to think about that. "I wasn't, but I should have been. What's up?"

"I'm in the sewer, heading your way. I didn't want to surprise you."

Within fifteen minutes, April had reached the lair. Don met her at the door, trying to look like himself. Trying to look normal. Trying not to look like he had spent the night hearing voices and fighting ghosts.

If he managed it, it was only because he was giving everything he had to keep that frigid numbness in place as a guard against the reality of his feelings.

"Morning, April," he said, acting calm with all his power.

"Hi Donnie." April, on the other hand, looked pale and was fidgeting so hard she almost dropped her phone twice before she tucked it away as she moved into the room towards the couch.

"Do you want some coffee?"

April shook her head. "No. I mean, thank you. But not now."

All Donatello's instincts began to scream with foreboding.

She perched on the very edge of a couch cushion. "Donnie, there's...something I have to tell you."

Don sank to the seat next to her as his knees went limp. "April, you're scaring me. The last time we had this conversation, you told me Casey's mom was sick with cancer."

"I know. And, if anything, this is worse."

Don gulped. "Okay. What is it?"

She took a slow breath. "The cancer she has...it's more advanced than they thought. Her doctors are recommending she undergo an immediate transfer to a different hospital for an experimental therapy."

Don's heart turned to stone. "I see. So where are you going?"

A tear ran down her cheek. She could almost feel herself breaking her best friend with her answer. "Switzerland."

"And how long will you be there?" His voice was not cold; it was as kind and supportive as ever – and that was almost more painful to hear.

"The initial guess is four to six months. After that, they'll reassess."

April watched Donatello calculate. "You're going to have to sell the shop, aren't you?"

She hung her head. "There's no choice. It's in such bad shape already, it'll cost a fortune to fix up, even with your help. Casey's mom's place won't sell for as much as a corner location in Manhattan, even one in the middle of Purple Dragon territory. And the medical insurance, well..."

"April."

She raised her eyes to see Don looking at her with an expression she could barely parse. His eyes were haunted and almost glassy, but his voice and his face were deliberately, almost fiercely, gentle.

Don took her hands and held them in a warm grip.

"It's okay, April. If it were me instead of her, I know you'd do the same for me. If there were anything I could do, _anything_ , I would. You have to take care of your family."

April shoved his hands aside so she could put her arms around him. " _You're_ my family, Donnie!"

Donatello returned the embrace tightly. "I know. But Casey needs you. His mom needs you. You can't leave her with somebody like _Sid_."

That actually won him a groan from her. "She'd be better off with _Hun_ than Sid."

"Exactly." Don lifted his head until his cheek leaned against her hair while April buried her forehead against his neck. "I'm not angry with you, April. Or Casey. This isn't your fault. And, honestly, I've felt better when you're both out of the city. The thought of the Dragons tracking you down…"

He trailed off before his voice went raw as he forced back the savage rage the thought generated. Rage was dangerous. Rage led to other emotions, and if those took hold, he might never push them back to where he could control them again.

"But you…" April whispered against him, "you'll be alone. I mean, we'll be hours ahead of you and who knows what phone calls will cost or if we'll have access to an internet connection..."

Don sighed. "I know you'll do your best. But I will still have Leatherhead and the Professor. I'll even have my brothers and Master Splinter once I figure out how to go see Leo in Edo. It...it won't be that bad."

April cried harder against him. "Don't lie to me, Donatello. Not now. Not about this."

Don's breath caught and his eyes burned. "I'll...I'll find a way, April. I promise. Somehow I'll...find a way to keep going."

"You _better_. Because when this is over and we come home, you're the first thing I want to see."

Don nodded against her. "So when are you leaving?"

"Thursday morning."

Don twitched in surprise. "Thanksgiving?"

"Flights are cheaper then, so…"

"Oh. That makes sense, I guess."

April tightened her grip. "Donnie...I'm sorry. If there were any way…"

"I know that."

"I don't want you to have to be alone on Thanksgiving Day."

"It doesn't really matter that much, honestly," Don said. "Alone is alone, you know?"

"I'll call Leatherhead, tell him what's going on. Maybe he can come keep you company or eat with you or something."

"Sure, April."

April knew that Donatello, her friend and brother and protector and co-nerd, was still there, holding her and gently rubbing a circle on her back. She knew it because she was holding onto him.

And yet somehow he seemed insubstantial in her arms, as if he were fading away. Folding inwards. Collapsing like a star that burns itself to death from within.

"Are you...going to be okay?" April ventured.

She could sense the quaking in his heart as he braced himself to answer her.

"It's...going to be really hard. I know that. But...I'm not giving up. I've gotta be here, you know? When the guys...if the guys…"

"Oh, Donnie." April's tears fell in sympathy for those he did not shed. "Isn't there...anything you can do?"

He swallowed and it lifted his plastron with the force of it. "I've...got a fix on Leo now. I'm going to talk to him. I keep thinking...if he really knew what was happening, he'd come home. He wouldn't want the Dragons taking over."

"And he wouldn't want you to be alone, either." But even as she said it, April wasn't entirely sure it was true anymore, and she almost hated Leo for making her doubt.

Don seemed to shake himself. "I'll help you get ready to go," he said in a more normal voice. "And then I'll go talk to Leo so I don't have to be here when you leave."

April could imagine it – Don sitting and watching from a hacked satellite feed or from within the airport computer system, tracking their flight taking off, staring at it as it tore away the only family he had left.

"If...if you needed me...if you asked me not to go with them, I…"

" _Don't_ , April." Don's voice stopped her with its sudden, sharp coldness. "Don't even _offer_ it. _Please_. Because I won't be able to say no if you give me that choice – and it's not right."

He pulled back and waited until she met his eyes. April was not surprised that at last his were as wet and streaming as her own.

"April, whatever happens...you need to be with Casey and his mom. You _have_ to go. Please. Don't...don't make me have to…"

April nodded and shifted her hands to cup his damp cheeks. Don echoed the movement and held hers as well. Neither could have told which of the pair of them was shaking harder.

April breathed in like a tiny sob. "Donatello...you are the most unselfish...loyal...wonderful brother I could ever ask for. You deserve...so much more. From all of us."

Don's breath hitched. "So do you, April. I'm...so grateful...to have a sister like you." His face twitched as though his grief were battling within his skin to escape. "Thank you for being my family."

"Thank you for being mine."

And though there were days yet before they would be parted by an ocean, they could both feel the goodbye in the air now, the farewell that would matter. For when the time came, they would both be resisting grief so much they would not be able to give their hearts freely.

So April and Donatello cried together for all they had lost – all three brothers and a father – and for the distance that would soon divide them from their last remaining sibling of this strange and wonderful family. They cried as though they would never see one another again, as though this were final and whatever the future held, it would not ever release them to reunite.

And both of them, privately, could not help but wonder if that might be true.

-==OOO==-

Donatello rose on Thanksgiving morning and had never felt so cold. The city was now void of the two humans who had made life bearable for the last months. Donatello's heart seemed shuttered in the ice that was making the streets a menace above.

He didn't bother to eat, nor to even peek in on the Parade that had been a staple of Thanksgiving mornings in years before. He didn't run through any kind of morning kata or training.

He only lit a stick of incense and set it to burn at the small family altar, though he could barely bring himself to pray more than a wordless plea.

Then he gripped the portal stick in hands that shook and keyed in the coordinates he had determined over the last few sleepless nights. As the doorway began to glow, Don found himself praying again, but not to Master Yoshi, this time.

_Leo, please. I'm...at the end of my rope here. Please still be my big brother. I...I need you, Leo. Please be the leader and hero you've always been. Don't let me fall._

He stepped through into the city of Edo.

Donatello could have appeared within the Shogun's palace, but he figured that would definitely get him skewered. Instead, he appeared in a small alley Usagi had described close to one of the palace gates. He wore the purple kimono he had been given so long ago, and by and large he looked like he fit in with those citizens who inhabited the city.

But his heart could not have been more different. Even back in New York where he was now the only mutant ninja turtle in the world, he did not feel as alien as he did here.

It took Donatello the better part of two hours to talk his way through several guards before he was permitted to wait in an outbuilding between defensive walls that kept threats away from the Shogun. He had asked for either Leo or Master Splinter, and a servant had run off to inquire about them.

Sitting on a hard bench, Donatello nudged the portal stick where he had tucked it within his robes close to his body. He had come unarmed just to simplify things, so the solid weight of the gadget was his only reassurance.

_This...this has to work. If it doesn't…_

But that fear led to genuine lunacy and he quashed it with an effort that should have hurt except it had become commonplace. Donatello's very soul was filled with growing calluses now.

After another half hour of waiting, the servant returned.

"I regret to inform you that Master Splinter has refused to see you."

Donatello's heart dropped into ice. "He...what?"

The servant ducked his head nervously. "His words were...very strong. He...asked me to bar your entry to his chambers."

If Don could have moved, he might have screamed. Or vomited. But he could do neither.

The servant bobbed another bow. "But Leonardo-sama will see you if you will follow me."

It took all the strength Donatello had to rise from his bench and make his legs carry him.

_Master Splinter...doesn't want to see me? I don't understand. I don't… How can this be happening? Why would he…?_

Don didn't even bother to track where he was going. The serene gardens and well-ordered paths meant nothing to his mind in turmoil.

"Donnie?"

Donatello looked up and saw Leo, looking resplendent in the finest silks, sitting on a bench beside a quiet pool.

Before Don could answer him, the servant who had escorted him darted across the path and whispered into Leo's ear. To Don's surprise, Leo's face immediately clouded.

"Leo, I need to talk to you. Privately."

Leo nodded to the servant and waved him away. When he was clear, Don approached.

"What's wrong?" Leo asked, his voice betraying nothing.

"Everything! Everything's wrong! Raph's acting crazy and you came here without telling me and now Master Splinter's refusing to see me! I mean, what the _shell_ is going on, Leo?"

Leonardo held up a hand. "When it comes to Raph, I've already sent someone to go check on him, and if there's anything to worry about, I'll take care of it. As for coming here without informing you, I already apologized to you in the note I left. You have to understand, I've been really busy."

Don blinked at him. "You're kidding me, right, Leo? You were so busy that you _forgot_ to tell your brothers you were moving our father while he's still sick?"

"No, I didn't forget to tell them. I just forgot to tell _you_. It's not like I've seen a lot of you lately, Donnie."

"I know! And I'm sorry. But it hasn't been exactly a picnic back home, either. A bunch of stuff happened with April and Casey and…" Don trailed off. The look on his brother's face was cold and unfamiliar. "What is it?"

"Why did Master Splinter refuse to see you?"

Don let out an aggrieved sigh. "How the _shell_ should I know? I haven't seen him in weeks!"

Leo tipped his head. "I assume he had a good reason. Perhaps he sensed that you have become somewhat irrational."

"Irrational!" Don reeled at the word. "Leo, I'm the only one making any sense lately! Something has changed, something big!"

"What exactly do you mean?"

"Since when does Mikey not care about his comic books or video games?"

"He's growing up, Donatello. You should follow his example."

Don ignored that with an effort. "Since when does Raph lose his cool with me because I don't kill people in fights?"

"He may have a point," Leo said. "If you are leaving yourself vulnerable to attack by an enemy you spared once before, you should not be surprised he disagrees. Raph of all people has the least patience for those who invite their own problems."

Donatello actually stamped his foot. "Leonardo! What the _shell_ is wrong with you? You've never, and I mean _never_ been this much of a jerk. Why are you acting like this?"

Leo frowned. "Have you considered that _you're_ the one with the problem, Donnie? Mikey is off being a productive member of society. He's making friends, working hard, and even thinking about settling down. Raph is protecting my han, banding together with those of like mind to serve the people. And I have a lot more responsibilities now as Heir than I did as just your big brother. I don't really have time for you to throw a temper tantrum just because you're jealous."

"You think I'm _jealous_?"

"Yes, I do. I think you hate that you are the only one who couldn't live here and finally you're finding out that there is more to life than all your science and technology."

"And haven't you considered that maybe something else is going on?" Don asked. "Like maybe you're all wrong and I'm the only one thinking straight?"

Leo shrugged. "It's possible. In which case, I would trust Master Splinter above us all, as his perspective and will are incorruptible. But he has barred you from his presence. And now I am beginning to understand why."

"Leo, you need to trust _me_! This isn't right! _Nothing_ about this is right!"

Leonardo crossed his arms and glared. "I do trust you, Donatello. I would trust my life to your hands. But you are wrong about this. You are getting emotional and it is clouding your judgment."

Don almost choked on his breath. "Clouding my… Are you even _listening_ to yourself, Leo? Our family is _falling apart_!"

"I think we are growing into what we always should have become. If you cannot handle that, you should go back to the world you have chosen."

"It's _our_ world! We should _all_ go back! Please, Leo, listen to reason!"

" _Enough_!" Leo's voice rose in a sharp shout that caused Don to flinch; never in his entire life had his brother barked at him. It reminded him of how the Shredder and Karai snapped at their Foot lackeys. "I know what's best for this family, Donnie. You don't. Leave us alone."

Donatello's heart stuttered behind his plastron. "Leo...what are you saying?"

"You heard me."

"You're ordering me to go away?" Don's desperation grew. "I can't do that! I can't leave things like this!"

"Well, that's my decision. Go back to your dimension and leave the rest of us to pursue our lives as we see fit."

Don's hands curled into fists. "It's the wrong decision, Leo!"

Leo looked at Don with a gaze that was suddenly impersonal and remote.

"If you have forgotten how to follow orders, mine _and_ Master Splinter's, then you have lost the way of our family. You are not suited to claim relation to us."

"I'm _what_?"

Leo rose. "As I am not Head of our Clan, I do not have the right to cut the Clan bond and release you from our family. Only Master Splinter can do that. I will speak to him when he is in better spirits to see what he wants to do about you."

"You...you're going to ask Sensei to...cut me off…"

"The ties of blood are only as worthy as the honor of those they bind," Leo said. "Until you learn better your place and recall your duty to respect and obey me, you will not be recognized as my Clan. I do not care what you claim back in your world. But here, you are not my brother until Master Splinter decides your fate."

Donatello stumbled backwards. To his surprise, a pair of guards caught him and held his arms in a grip he could have broken if he weren't beyond all feeling.

"Leo…please…" Don whispered, and tears gathered in his eyes.

Leo waved to the guards. "Ensure that he leaves through his magical gateway as soon as possible. And make it known to all guards that he is not permitted in the palace without my express permission. Should he be found here, he is to be brought to me immediately."

The guards bowed their heads.

Donatello blinked the harsh tears back. "Leo…"

Leo smiled, but it was a cold, almost pitying smile. "Go home and get your head back on straight, Don. If you decide to behave more correctly, I'll rescind the order and you can petition Master Splinter to visit him again. But while you're being so unreasonable, I can't risk you here in the presence of the Shogun."

"Unreasonable…" The word lanced like a blade across Don's heart. "You think I'm being…"

"That's enough. Now, go away, or I will have to order the guards to force you."

Donatello managed to find the portal stick in his robes and drew it. The guards did not impede him, though their grip was firm and warned they were ready to strike if he moved against Leo's commands.

"Leo…" Don whispered as his fingers keyed the coordinates without his input.

"Goodbye, Donatello." Leo turned away and started to leave, not even waiting to watch Don go.

The portal shimmered to life before him. Donatello couldn't have lifted a foot to pass through it on his own, but he had help; the guards gave him a shove and Donatello stumbled between dimensions back to the lair.

_What the shell...Leo...cutting me off...not a brother..._

_What…_

_How…_

And then Donatello's feelings reset with the abruptness of a computer crashing.

_It's over._

A deep pain bloomed in Donatello's chest. Now the shaking moved from his fingers to his whole arm, his vision of Usagi's world bobbing up and down with the tremors that moved in him. He could have adjusted the portal stick to follow his brother through the palace, but he couldn't bring himself to try.

_I'm not...welcome. I'm not...wanted._

Donatello forced himself to shut down the portal stick so he could set it on the nearest level surface before he dropped it. Or threw it. Or smashed it into a thousand unrecognizable pieces.

_It's exactly what Raph said. He and Mikey...have their own lives now. They've moved on. They don't need me. They don't need anything here._

_They've moved on without me._

_It's not just moving out. It's not just living apart anymore._

_We're...broken. And they don't want to fix it. They don't care anymore._

The shaking reached Donatello's knees. He managed a few stumbling steps away from his lab area and out into the rest of the lair that gleamed brightly, perfectly, shining and clean and now completely irrelevant. A waste of time. A lair built for a family that would never want it.

His eyes trailed over the half-pipe he had built for Mikey that would never be used. The meticulously arranged dojo complete with the weight-lifting equipment visible through the open door that Raph would never try. The garden in the subway car Leo would not cultivate nor seek out for meditation. The study with its hand-woven mats upon which Master Splinter would never kneel.

_And Leo...he...he would disown me. It's only a technicality that he hasn't already._

_I'm not his brother._

_I've been cast out of the family._

The deep pain in Donatello's chest grew teeth and sharp edges that began to cut through him as though he had swallowed a grenade and its fragments were tearing him apart from within.

_It's like they've died. And I'm alone._

_I'm alone._

_For the rest of my life._

Donatello gave a hysterical giggle. It should have been a sob, but it was laughter nonetheless, crazed and broken.

_It was all for nothing. The lair, our battles, all of it. We should have died at the hands of the Shredder. Any of the Shredders. We should have let Bishop cut us apart on his lab table._

_At least we'd have died together as a family._

_Now...my whole life has been for nothing._

Grief and pain united in a whirl of despair and hopelessness in Donatello's heart. The shaking of his body became too much and he dropped to his hands and knees, his head hanging down like a broken horse's.

_Alone. Nothing._

_Alone._

_Nothing._

A sound bubbled up from inside him, a sound Donatello could not have thought he was capable of producing. It began as a keening whine but quickly grew in strength and new dimensions of suffering. It seemed to bypass his throat and his mouth, emitting directly from his very soul.

_Alone._

_Nothing._

Donatello's entire world narrowed to that shriek and the pain it carried, though no sound, nothing audible in any universe could actually capture the sensation of his soul being ripped from his body and incinerated in a blaze of anguish.

_Alone. Nothing._

Don's rationality shattered and he was left only with his agony.

* * *


	4. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I owe all of you cookies and hugs and deep apologies. I knew in the writing of this story that it was going to be heartrending – it was heartrending to me to write! But I always knew where I was going and what was to come. My beta thinks you each must have the fortitude of a battalion to get through all I've done to you so far. I'm very glad you do. As this chapter will show you, all is not lost.
> 
> The theme for this Act, as correctly guessed by at least 2 of you, is "One Last Breath" by Creed. Very appropriate for poor Donnie, huh?
> 
> Next week we begin Act 4. Fair warning – the only Donatello you'll have in the whole of that Act is in thoughts and recollections. Act 4 is all about the rest of the Hamato Clan.
> 
> There's one funny-ish story I want to tell you – maybe it'll soften the blow of everything else. So, in this Act, Professor Honeycutt is going to offer his first name, his given name, for the first time. When I initially wrote the scene in which he provides it, the canonical character of Professor Honeycutt had never been given a first name in any instance of TMNT, so I made one up from the surname of the actor who voiced him for the 2003 series and called him Zarus. Some weeks later, however, the 2012 version of TMNT decided to give him the name of Zayton. I was both highly amused and also annoyed that I was so close but not quite right! It took my beta a month to convince me to change Zarus to Zayton for consistency.
> 
> Last of the housekeeping notes: right at the start in this chapter, Leatherhead tries to help Donatello handle his emotional breakdown by physically restraining him. This is NOT the recommended method for dealing with someone in a similar state unless you explicitly know from them that they find that method helpful. Many people who struggle with trauma or anxiety can be made even more upset by unwelcome physical contact. Leatherhead, I assume, is aware this, but decided to take the chance given the extraordinary circumstances. I would be grateful if you wouldn't use that as an object lesson in real life, though.
> 
> I sincerely adore all of you for sticking with me. The payoff may be long in coming, but I hope you find it worth all the pain. Or maybe the pain is a reward in its own right. Either way. I can't exactly be sorry for breaking your hearts – I can only promise to fix them as we go.
> 
> Enjoy!

Thanksgiving evening, Leatherhead and the Professor made their way to visit Donatello; April had asked them to ensure he was not alone on a day dedicated to being with one's family. They would have gone earlier, but they wanted to be sure they allowed enough time for Don to visit with Leonardo and Master Splinter in Edo first.

The sound of an eerie wail reached them the instant they opened the door to the turtles' lair.

Professor Honeycutt tipped his robotic head. "I wonder what could produce such a noise?"

But Leatherhead froze as fear washed through him before he shook himself. "Hurry!"

Honeycutt ambled after him into the lair as best as he could. "But what is it?"

Leatherhead took a breath in through his nose. "That sound...it is like that made by my heart when the Utrom were forced to leave me behind."

The pair found Donatello curled up on the ground, howling an unnatural dirge of pain interrupted only by shallow, gasping breaths. His face was flushed and his eyes were red, swollen and unseeing.

"Donatello!" Leatherhead was certain he had never moved with such speed as he did to reach the side of his friend.

"Oh, my boy." Professor Honeycutt was not quite as fast in his awkward body, but he scraped his metal knees on the floor as he slid to Donatello opposite Leatherhead. He reached his hand out but Leatherhead caught it before he could touch the prone turtle.

"Don't, Professor. He's in the midst of a profound panic attack. Almost a mental breakdown. And with his combat experience and previous mental traumas, there's no telling how he'll react. He may not even perceive us as his friends."

Professor Honeycutt drew his hand back. "Then what do you suggest? We cannot leave him like this!"

"Go to the medical bay. Find a small dose of a mild sedative. I will try something first, but if I fail, we may need to drug him. Though I would prefer to avoid it if possible."

"As would I."

Leatherhead waited until Professor Honeycutt was out of range; if he made a mistake, he did not want Donatello's senselessness to cause harm to Honeycutt's surprisingly fragile body.

"Forgive me, my friend."

And with the speed his original species might use to attack prey, Leatherhead jumped on Donatello and wrapped his whole body around the much smaller turtle.

Donatello's keening changed abruptly into an outraged roar and he began to strike out with fists and feet made savage and mindless. But Leatherhead was much stronger than Donatello and had already positioned himself to have the advantage of leverage, so he merely endured the struggling.

Professor Honeycutt returned. "I have the sedative. Should I administer it now?"

"No," Leatherhead said, swinging his jaw out of the way of Donatello's attempt to hit it with his own head. "Wait."

After what seemed like an eternity, Donatello's actions began to slow and his strength drained away. As his body subsided, so did his vocalizations.

And into the quiet, Leatherhead spoke in a voice that rumbled through his whole frame. "Donatello. My friend. Breathe with me."

Leatherhead took a long, slow breath in, counting to eight in his head. He held it for four beats, then breathed out over twelve. After a pause of another four beats, he repeated the process, deliberately holding the young turtle against his chest so he could feel the rise and fall, breathing audibly against Donatello's ear.

On the third cycle of breathing, Donatello gave a slight gasp before attempting to imitate Leatherhead.

"Good!" Professor Honeycutt said with as much encouragement as he could pour into his vocal processors. "Good, Donatello. Try to relax. Focus only on your breathing."

Leatherhead gave the professor a nod and continued his measured example.

Five endless minutes later, Donatello blinked his eyes as though waking from a stupor. "L...Leatherhead? What…?"

"Hush, my boy," Professor Honeycutt interrupted as gently as he could manage. "Listen to your body and focus on your breathing."

Donatello frowned but closed his eyes and obeyed, grounding himself on the steady beat of Leatherhead's heart right against his head.

A few minutes later his eyes flew open. "My brothers! My _family_!"

"Calmly, Donatello." Professor Honeycutt held up a hand. "Calmly. Continue to breathe, please."

Leatherhead shifted his grip on Donatello so that he was no longer restraining him, but he did not let go of the younger turtle; rather, he adjusted so that he was holding Donatello in a full-body embrace. He did not interrupt his own breathing, but he rumbled deep in his chest a tone so low it was more felt than audible, a reptilian purr.

Donatello closed his eyes once more and leaned into the comfort Leatherhead offered, attempting to keep his breathing slow and steady. But a few tears made their way down his face.

The transition, when it came, was sudden. Donatello's breathing sped up slightly, and his tears came faster. And then he broke into a heart-torn sob of pure sorrow.

"Oh, my boy," Professor Honeycutt whispered.

As he watched Donatello bury his face in Leatherhead's chest to cry, he recalled several things all at once.

The first was how young Donatello was. Even by the standards of D'Hoonib, which Professor Honeycutt had always thought were a little too aggressive, Donatello would not be considered a full adult for several years more, and that was assuming he aged as the people of D'Hoonib did, which the Professor was beginning to doubt. Terrapins were notoriously long-lived, and if the turtles' transformation was anything like what Leatherhead had described of his own, Donatello could remain the human equivalent of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old for many more years, perhaps even decades.

For all that he had built such amazing things, accomplished astonishing victories, Donatello was still an adolescent both biologically and emotionally.

The second was that Donatello's mental state was much more unstable than he had ever realized. He had known, of course, that all the turtles had been through various traumas, and that of those, Donatello had often fared the worst – as in his torture at the hands of the Triceratons or his experience in an alternate dimension. But now he could see that those different mental wounds had built up in Donatello's brain, creating emotional scarring that rendered him more vulnerable to extreme states of depression.

Additionally, there was something he had seen in Leatherhead's notes once, something about psychosis as a side-effect of the mutating virus that had swept through the sewer and had infected Donatello; Donatello himself had mentioned a similar possibility after his poisoning in the dimension where his family remained. And all that without taking into account the fact that all four turtles had probably suffered a fair number of blows to the head and dangerous concussions from their battles over the years – and Donatello had suffered at least one such injury recently. Added together, the potential cognitive damage was extensive and could result in any number of psychological difficulties. No wonder the extreme emotions he must have been experiencing had come to a head in such a violent manner.

The third was that he could not, under any circumstances at all, proceed with the plan of which he and Leatherhead had decided to inform Donatello. At least, not unedited. Not now.

But that very plan might contain within it the solution that could be the saving of their friend.

Donatello cried until he was spent, and though he was clearly exhausted and more than a little embarrassed to find himself still wrapped in Leatherhead's embrace like a babe, Leatherhead did not release him until he was once again breathing normally. Only then and without a word, Leatherhead stood with Donatello in his arms and deposited him on the couch before gesturing for Honeycutt to sit beside him.

Then Leatherhead wisely made himself scarce to give Donatello a few moments to compose himself.

"I...I'm really sorry," Don said in a voice raw and aching with emotion. "I didn't mean to...you know. Lose it."

Professor Honeycutt found he was still somehow biological enough for his heart to break. He rested a metal hand on Donatello's shoulder. "My boy. Please. No apologies for this. I only wish you had called upon us sooner before your grief and pain were so great." He paused. "That is...I know you have been rather lonely, but I had not realized…"

"They're never coming back. And they don't want me with them."

Professor Honeycutt would have been alarmed at the lack of affect in his friend's voice had he not seen that it was born of titanium self-control, a deliberate attempt to maintain calm.

"I see."

"And it's...like they're dead. They're dead all over again and it's my fault even though it isn't. Even though they're not actually dead. But...it feels like it did then. Except worse. So much worse. Because this isn't a dream or an alternate reality. This _is_ reality. My reality. And...I don't know if I can live with it."

He closed his eyes. Professor Honeycutt noticed that he was continuing to breathe in Leatherhead's pattern.

"Of all the things that could have happened to us...I never thought they'd just...abandon me. We might have all been killed in battle. Or maybe we'd drift apart naturally as we got older. I didn't want that, but it was a possibility. I never thought…they'd leave me. That we wouldn't be...family anymore."

Professor Honeycutt knew his body was not much use when it came to offering physical comfort, but he tried to rub Donatello's shoulder as best he could. "Even you cannot see all the possibilities in the universe, Donatello. Though I perhaps wish you had, in this case. You might have been able to prepare yourself."

"Yeah. And with April and Casey gone…"

"You are not alone." Leatherhead approached, padding on silent feet with a mug of tea in his hands. "Donatello. My friend. Whatever else happens, we will _not_ abandon you." He looked straight into Professor Honeycutt's optics.

_Thank goodness, Leatherhead. You have come to the same conclusion as I. Now we must approach this delicately._

Donatello nodded miserably. He accepted the tea from Leatherhead and sipped at it.

Leatherhead perched before the couch so he could see both Professor Honeycutt and Donatello and waited. Perhaps even without realizing, he began to emit that almost sub-sonic rumble, filling the air with the vibration of his presence and concern.

When the cup of tea was drained, Donatello looked up, equally drained and empty. "It's over, isn't it? There's no point in doing anything anymore. There's nothing left for me to do."

Leatherhead looked to Professor Honeycutt who gave a subtle nod.

"What more would you wish to do, Donatello?" Leatherhead asked gently.

Donatello blinked at him and a bit of the wildness of before crawled into his eyes. "What does it _matter_? Everything I've _ever_ done has been for my family and now…" He shuddered and deliberately took a deep breath. "Is this all there will ever be? Unless I give up everything that makes me myself and see if they'll take me back – if I can stand to live in Usagi's world, I guess. _Their_ world now. But...I can't do that. I'm all I have left. Is that selfishness? To want to be myself even at this cost?"

Professor Honeycutt spoke carefully. "I don't know if I would call it selfishness. I might call it courage, though. Integrity. Tenacity."

Don shivered. "It would be easier if it _was_ selfish. Then I'd just give up."

Leatherhead asked, "But you won't?"

"No. If I stop being me, it's like a surrender. I gave my word of honor a long time ago that I would never surrender myself. Would never stop being myself. That's...if my promise is all I have left...breaking it would be a worse failure than leaving them. Or being left by them."

Leatherhead closed a hand on Donatello's trembling fingers clutching the cup. "Worse for whom, Donatello?"

He swallowed thickly. "I don't know anymore. But I can only be myself. Even if I have to be alone to do it. It's the only thing I've got left to hold onto."

Professor Honeycutt straightened his posture and tapped the young turtle on the shoulder until he had his attention.: "Donatello, I owe you my life. More than once over. I don't entirely understand your concept of honor, but I believe it would be mine to keep you company in the stead of your family if you will permit me."

"Thank you, Professor." The words were small, almost choked out, but the shade of relief they expressed was profound.

Professor Honeycutt nodded. "Now, my boy. If I am to be your only remaining family…"

Leatherhead's low rumbling cut off with an annoyed snort. "Excuse me, but you are _not_. I, too, owe Donatello a great deal and esteem him highly. You are _not_ the only family he can claim. And I, at least, share something of a genetic legacy with him."

Donatello fidgeted slightly, but he did not pull away from either of the pair anchoring him.

"Yes, all true. My apologies, my friend." Professor Honeycutt missed the biological ability to sigh; some means of expression really required more than a voice processor. "Anyway, as I was saying, I believe if we _three_ are to constitute a rather unusual new family of sorts, I believe it is time for you to call me by my given name. Both of you."

That sparked the slightest return of Don's more typical interest. "I didn't realize you had one."

"Neither did I," Leatherhead said, eye-ridges raising in surprise.

"Names on D'Hoonib are not quite as they are here on Earth. For example, when one joins the military, one forfeits one's family name entirely, only to be known by their rank, unit, and given name – it is one's promise to give one's life fully to the armed forces. For civilians, if one has a complicated family history or one is of the higher, ruling classes, one may have multiple family names to ensure all branches of one's lineage are represented. Thankfully, I am not numbered amongst those, which is also what permitted me the freedom to pursue my interests as a scientist rather than a politician."

Donatello was watching him closely, but Leatherhead's snout was curling with slight impatience. He realized he had gotten somewhat off track and quickly returned to his point.

"Anyway, my given name is Zayton. And, if I am being precise, my family name is not quite pronounced Honeycutt, but rather Honn'i'kedt. Though Honeycutt is an acceptable approximation in your language."

Donatello nodded, attempting a smile and not quite spectacularly failing.

Leatherhead squeezed Donatello's hands between his own. "My friend. There is something we must tell you. And," he glanced to Zayton for a quick confirmation before continuing, "something we would ask you. But I do not wish to see you distressed again."

Donatello sighed. "I promise I'll try not to freak out on you, Leatherhead."

"On the contrary, Donatello," Zayton spoke up, "I would vastly prefer that you be open about your feelings with us. To be alone facing such devastation, it is not healthy. It is not that we would not gladly undertake the task of helping you through your pain, but rather that we do not wish to upset you anew. You have suffered enough for one day."

Now Donatello closed his eyes. He breathed slowly a few times before facing them again. "Okay. Honestly, whatever it is, I'd rather get it over with. I really will try not to lose it. But tell me now so I can stop wondering about it."

Leatherhead took a breath, maintaining his grip on the turtle. "Professor...that is, Zayton and I have made something of a breakthrough. We have been successful in our attempts to reestablish contact with the Utrom Homeworld. They...have invited us to rejoin them."

All the air in Donatello's chest went out of him as though he had been punched in the gut.

"It really is a better situation for myself," Professor Honn'i'kedt said quickly. "And I will be able to continue my more delicate scientific research, too, when I again have access to their more advanced technology. And as for Leatherhead…"

"They raised me. They were my family." Leatherhead's voice went soft with reverence. "I belong with them."

Donatello forced himself to breathe even as his heart broke. "I...I understand. So...when are you going?" And he could only pray his voice did not shake.

But it did, and even if it had not given him away, the sorrow in the rest of him, from his eyes to the very lines of his body, did.

"Listen to me, Donatello," Professor Honn'i'kedt said. "We do not want to leave you. We want you to come _with_ us."

That was unexpected enough that it abruptly stopped Donatello's burgeoning return to panic and he blinked. "Wait. What?"

Leatherhead nodded. "My friend. If you cannot bear to leave this planet, to leave New York, I will sacrifice a life with the Utrom to remain here with you for as long as you wish. It is the least I can do. But it is also possible that no sacrifice is necessary. If you have nothing left to bind you here, perhaps remaining amongst these memories is not the wisest course of action for you."

"The Utrom would welcome you, Donatello," Zayton added. "And in the Utrom Collective there are many different kinds of species. You might be unusual, as Leatherhead is, but you would not have to live in secret any longer. You could study science with us in the open, even publish your findings and receive the recognition you so clearly deserve. The possibilities for what you could accomplish are unlimited!"

Leatherhead leaned closer. "You are already parted from your family, but with the use of your portal stick, distance means nothing. You could reach them as easily in Miyamoto Usagi's dimension from the Utrom Homeworld as from here. And I am also certain the Utrom would not begrudge you the ability to come back to Earth if you so chose. You would not be trapped with them if you found life there not to your liking."

"And if such is your choice," Zayton said, "I feel certain Leatherhead and I would accompany you in return. You should not have to be alone, my friend. We are not abandoning you. We merely wish you to consider a change of scenery."

Donatello looked back and forth between them with something like shock.

"Donatello." Leatherhead's voice went almost tentative. "I am sure you must recognize that your reaction today to your grief, while understandable, is also worrying. The Utrom are some of the finest minds in the galaxy. I intend to seek out their assistance with my rage and my own inner demons. I believe you, too, have wounds within that could use help. Professional help."

That brought a broken chuckle from Don. "Oh, probably. I'm a mess of neuroses these days."

"You do not have to decide right now," Professor Honn'i'kedt was quick to say. "You may take all the time you wish, though I hope you will not object if we remain here with you rather than leave you on your own again."

"No, that's fine. Honestly, I'd welcome somebody making noise around here. The quiet…" Donatello shivered. "Who knew quiet could drive you mad?"

Leatherhead said nothing, but he did resume his low, comforting rumble once more.

Zayton looked more critically at Donatello, then rose from the couch. "My boy, I believe that some proper nutrition will also assist you in feeling more like yourself. And while I do not need to eat for my own body's needs any longer, I have downloaded a vast repository of this world's cooking books and recipes. I will go see what I can make of your well-appointed kitchen, if you don't mind."

"No, go ahead."

While the professor sailed away, Leatherhead at last released Donatello's hands. "My friend?"

Somehow, Donatello seemed so small as he sighed. "Yeah?"

"I hope...you can forgive my...presumption...in trying to assist you in a manner that may have been...overly invasive of your personal space and dignity. It was a gamble, and one I undertook only as a near-to-last resort. I hope we have not done you more harm in our attempt to care for you."

Donatello let out a laugh that was dry and cold. "Leatherhead, I'm not sure there's any way for me to be any more hurt than I already am. I mean, I'd rather not try it and prove myself wrong, but…" He let out a breath and met Leatherhead's eyes. "Just by trying to be my friend, no matter what you did, it was better than me handling it on my own. Besides, you gave me a hug and it's been...a while since I got one from someone not worse off than myself. So, thank you."

"You are more than welcome. Then you are not distressed by the possibility we have suggested?"

Don shrugged. "Right now I'm more numb than anything else. I think you hugged the shock right out of me. So I'm...I'm going to have to think about it."

"By all means, Donatello. Our offer stands and has no time-limit. If you wished to leave today, we are all but prepared. If you wished to remain here for a week or a month or a year, we would not begrudge you the time. The decision is entirely yours."

Donatello looked at his hands. "It's hard to believe you'd give up your chance to go back to your own family for me."

Leatherhead put a large palm on Donatello's shoulder. "After I lost my Utrom family, and though my initial encounter with you and your brothers was brief, I was content to die knowing that I was not entirely alone on this planet. And when you and your family liberated me from Agent Bishop, you took me in as though I were one of you."

He paused, then ducked his head slightly. "I know that your relationship to your family is rather different from mine with the Utrom. But I know the pain of being left behind. It was you who eased that pain for me. The very least I can do is return the favor, my friend. Even if I am but a poor substitute for what you have lost."

"You're not. You are different, but that helps, too." Donatello closed his eyes. "It would be worse if you were exactly like them." Then he opened his eyes and tipped his head curiously. "Does that mean it's hard for you to be friends with me? Because I'm a scientist like the Utrom?"

Leatherhead actually chuckled. "No. For you are very, very different from my Utrom family in ways that I can barely describe. But I am confident you would see as much for yourself if you wished to make the journey."

Donatello's expression took on a closed-off look and he rose. "I should...go check on the perimeter."

Leatherhead stepped back to give him room. "As you wish, my friend."

He watched Donatello make his way towards his lab, only looking away when the doorway cut off his line of sight. Then, ears pricked and listening carefully, he joined Professor Honn'i'kedt in the kitchen.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" he asked in a whisper.

"I do not quite know. I have my auditory sensors turned as high as they will go, so I will be certain to detect it should he find himself in distress again. But beyond that...it is difficult to say."

Leatherhead looked at the various ingredients already arrayed on the counter. "Was it too much? Too soon to ask him? Not that we could do anything else. We _cannot_ leave him alone here."

" _No one_ should be left alone in a world of dangers and enemies," Zayton replied with conviction. "And as harsh as it sounds, I believe now was the perfect opportunity to present the idea – if only because now is the moment he is most likely to accept. And I intend to take advantage of Donatello's own confusion and grief if it will help remove him from here."

Leatherhead looked at his friend in surprise. "You're angry. Why?"

Zayton cut into a potato with unnecessary force, his voice turning cold and clipped. "My own people turned on me, too, Leatherhead. Of course, that was more to do with an insane warmonger who wished to use my intelligence for destruction. But I was chased across my homeland by my own government and would have become the worst force for evil the Alliance ever had at their disposal but for that boy and his brothers."

"The turtles did not turn on Donatello."

"Didn't they? Didn't they cast him out of their society because he is different? Didn't they scorn him for his intellectual ways? No, the Hamato family is not even remotely as savage as my own people of D'Hoonib were, but they _did_ cast him out. They sent him back to a world where he can never be safe, where at any moment one of their enemies might find him and harm him with no one to help him. They may not be the ones chasing him with guns blazing, but they put him into the path of those guns and turned their backs on his plight."

Zayton realized the potato he had been cutting had been reduced to slivers and discarded it.

"You know it as well as I do, Leatherhead. Within that boy lies some of the greatest untapped intelligence I have ever seen. And his heart is as gentle as he is brilliant. Those gifts should be nurtured, honored, encouraged. His family has chosen to ignore them. I will not do the same to him. I will not have him fall into evil hands that his genius be turned to destruction as mine almost was. And I will not stand by and let that which is a blessing be treated as a bother!"

Leatherhead let out a snort, not of rudeness, but agreement. "I understand. But we cannot pressure him. I, too, think he is better suited for life among the Utrom and not only because it is safer and healthier for him than remaining here on this planet alone. But it _must_ be his choice."

"I know. And I will not do him the disservice of abridging his decision, I assure you. There has been enough of that for all of us, I believe."

Leatherhead nodded. "Then let us give him a few minutes to compose himself. If I know Donatello as well as I believe I do, he will make his decision quickly. The more difficult part for him will be accepting it – and all it means for him."

"Yes. But in that, we shall help him. And when I next speak with the Utrom, I will have Mortu summon the appropriate experts to support him in every way possible. If I do nothing else, I will see Donatello healthy and strong in mind and heart once more, and then recognized for his natural gifts."

"In that, my friend," Leatherhead said as he set himself to help prepare the meal, "we are entirely in agreement."

-==OOO==-

Donatello still felt numb.

He stood dumbly in his lab for a few minutes, staring at his computer array.

_I wonder how long I was...out of it...before they came._

He glanced at the clock mounted above one of his monitors.

 _Huh. More than three hours, but not eighteen hours like after Raph. I guess that's...good?_ He shook his head at himself. _Shell. I really do need some kind of help. Imagine what the guys would say if they saw me having a screaming fit like that._

But following those thoughts led back to madness, and Donatello wrenched himself away before the bubbling grief could consume him again.

_I can't believe Leatherhead and the Professor invited me to go with them. Imagine getting to actually stay on the Utrom Homeworld, not just visit it like we did for the Shredder's trial, but really dig into it. I wonder what kind of computing systems the Utrom use on their own planet when they aren't hampered by the technology of Earth. I didn't get to see much of it while we were being treated for our injuries. I bet I'd have to learn a new coding language._

Donatello took a few more steps forward and reached out, touching the pads of his fingers to the edge of the desk he had built and configured so carefully.

_What would it be like to leave?_

Don swallowed convulsively. The idea burned inside, but he didn't know if it was a blaze of excitement or a newer, deeper pang of loss. And yet there was already a sense of farewell skipping across his heart as he ran his fingers along the edge of his nearest monitor, his eyes trailing across the array.

_How can I leave my own planet behind?_

An angry thought that sounded like it bore Raph's voice answered, _They did._

_I guess that's true. And it's no more of a commute back here for me than it would be for them._

Donatello shivered. _At least I wouldn't be leaving anyone behind._

He turned and peeked out the door of the lab. Leatherhead and Zayton – _How strange to think I've known him all this time and only now find out his real name!_ – were orbiting one another in the kitchen with the sort of familiarity Don remembered with an ache.

_They really would stay here with me if I asked them to. Even though they're both alone without their people. They've both been separated and cut off, too. They understand._

_Can I really ask them to stay on Earth just for my sake? Can I ask them to give up their chance to have their lives back for me?_

Donatello closed his eyes. He felt like it should hurt more than it did.

_I don't want to stay here where everything is a reminder of what I've lost. I don't want to wake up in silence for the rest of my life. I don't want to live in this shadow of everything that used to be. If I have to be alone either way, I might as well be alone where I can do the right thing for the friends I have left._

_If I have to be alone, the least I can do is make the best of it for Leatherhead and Zayton._

_I bet Leatherhead and Zayton think the Utrom Homeworld could even be as great for me as Usagi's world is for my family. Even if I can't imagine ever feeling okay again. Not if I'm feeling it alone._

_I wonder if anywhere will ever really be home again._

_I'm not sure it matters._

_Whatever it is, it can't possibly be worse than this._

And just like that, Donatello's heart shifted. Almost without any will of his own, he had decided to leave.

On one level, his brain began assembling a new Moving Book, a shorter one certainly, detailing all the preparations he would have to make. There were new security measures to implement to completely seal the lair to protect it from incursion with no one there to monitor it. There would be things to pack, though not much overall – what was the point bringing computing equipment that wouldn't be compatible with another planet's technology? And Don already intended to erase his entire computer's database, keeping for himself the only copy. Like the EMP he had sent to the previous lair, he would leave no scrap of information behind should all his defenses fail, would not risk his enemies finding anything that might lead them to Casey and April or to his family if they ever decided to visit. But there were other things he would keep with himself.

Only things that belonged to him, though, with a few crucial exceptions. He could not take so much as one of Leo's candles with him. Not only would that feel like stealing, but he couldn't go forward with a tether leading him back. Donatello was going to make a clean break, as clean as possible.

But while his brain meticulously decided what he would pack and how soon to erase his mainframe and which laptop to bring (until he got an Utrom version and converted all his data), his body was in motion.

Now that he had decided, it was time to say goodbye.

Donatello crept from his lab across the main room to the dojo first. He didn't take anything yet – the time for actual packing would come soon enough – but he looked at the room as though he could memorize every square inch of it. And he did. He brushed his hands over the weapons racks, the weights, the new scrolls that lined the walls. He walked the mats beneath his feet and stared upward to the beams and ropes hanging above.

When he shut the door behind himself, it was as though the room already belonged to someone else, someone who had lived long ago, someone who would never return.

He skipped the garden in the subway car because it was as meticulous as he could make it, not being a practitioner of rock gardening himself, and he already knew every stone and statue by heart. Also, the chimes on the door would sound and Don did not want to be interrupted.

His throat swelled with a painful lump as he pushed into Master Splinter's room.

Tears gathered in his eyes at the teapot that sat waiting, cold and empty and unused. He did not, could not look too hard at those belongings of his father's that had not already been moved to another dimension, nor at the blank spaces where the rest had been stored once – before everything that mattered was removed to another world, another life. He focused only on reaching the family's altar at the end of the room. Hamato Yoshi's likeness was long since gone to Usagi's dimension, but his name still hung on a banner above the incense that Don had dutifully lit each day.

Before this, he dropped to his knees.

"Master Yoshi. I hope you can understand my decision. Maybe this is how it was always meant to be, for me to follow your path and join the very beings you gave your life to protect. I will try to serve them with honor as you would."

Don fought the urge to sob and switched to Japanese. Not only was it a more correct way to address Hamato Yoshi, but it was also a language that required more focus for Donatello to use, and the more he focused, the easier it was to contain his emotions.

"Master Yoshi, I ask you to please watch over my family. Our Clan is still an honorable one, even if I have been dismissed from it. I will go into the universe as Hamato Donatello just as my brothers and father are still Hamato in their new world. Please guard them as you have always guarded us. Keep them strong and may their battles be victorious."

Donatello dropped his forehead to the mat and closed his eyes.

"Excuse me for leaving, Master Yoshi."

He rose and left without looking at anything in the room. When he shut the door, he knew he would not set foot in there again.

Professor Honn'i'kedt and Leatherhead were still in the kitchen, so Donatello crept upstairs.

In Michelangelo's room, Donatello paced a slow circle, his fingertips brushing over the posters and drawings pinned to the walls, noting the empty spot on Klunk's kitty tower where the cat would have slept, absently shuffling the pens on the desk ready for the most artistic of the turtles to return to drawing the comic that was half-done. When he retreated to the doorway, Donatello waved, blinking back a few tears, before he exited and shut the door behind him.

In Raphael's room, Donatello perched on his brother's hammock, hung at the precise height Raph preferred. In the center of the space stood the proud, rebuilt Shell Cycle with the brand-new helmet swinging from the handlebars. Don noticed that the helmet was swinging at the same approximate rate as the punching bag suspended in one corner and idly set the hammock to swinging at the same pace. But as soon as he moved, their formerly-steady rhythm broke due to his impact on the air currents in the room. He closed his eyes and rose from the hammock, almost feeling the disruption in the air, the ripples of wrongness that surrounded all that Raph had become. He left and shut the door with a shuddering breath.

In Leonardo's room, Donatello faced the carefully-repaired screens and hangings he had arranged where Leo would see them when he woke out of meditation.

"I don't know what you would say about what I'm doing," he whispered. "I'm not sure you get to have an opinion now, though. You're the one who decided you weren't my leader anymore."

He fought against a thick pain in his throat.

"I wish I could blame you for all of this. You led us there, you accepted the position as Heir, you sent me home, you sided with everybody else. You didn't try to fix what happened to us. But… I can't blame you, Leo. I'm not sure any of this is anyone's fault. Maybe it was just...momentum. Inevitability."

Don's whole body shook for a moment before he forced it to stillness again.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, big brother. I wonder if you are, too, sometimes."

He shook again, then straightened up to his full height. He bowed at the waist.

"Thank you for everything, Leo. Be safe in the life you have chosen. I will do my best to maintain the honor of our Clan...even if you never know it. Take care of our family, Leo. And take care of yourself."

As he rose and turned, his eyes fell on the bookshelf he had hung, filled with the books he had collected that he thought Leo might have liked. With a sensation like breaking off a piece of himself, Donatello pulled the Moving Book from his belt and added it to the bookshelf, slotting it between tomes on strategy and combat.

He was leaving it behind. He was leaving all of this behind. It hurt, but it was also a tremulous relief to feel nothing where the weight had been, familiar and damning, for so long.

He could not stop the tears that rolled down his cheeks when he moved to quit the room, carefully shutting the door behind him.

"Donatello?"

Leatherhead and Zayton were gathered at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him with obvious concern.

Donatello scrubbed a fist across his face and took a deep breath. As he walked from Leo's door to meet them, he felt as if his whole life were already falling away, as if every step, even though he was still inside the lair, was carrying him to someplace new. Someplace alone.

"My friend," Leatherhead said, extending a hand.

_Maybe not quite so alone after all._

Donatello kept his shoulders up and his head high as he descended the stairs to face them, allowing Leatherhead to put a warm hand on his shoulder.

When he spoke, his voice was steady and his broken heart faded into quiet.

"I'm coming with you. When do we leave?"

* * *

-==OOO==-

End of Act 3

-==OOO==-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more thank you to Sassatello from Tumblr for making these beautiful pieces at the request of 1readerVB!


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